


Rivals turned bedmates (A Budding Romance)

by Mara97



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Abandonment issues (mild?), Adults, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Because it's me, Camping, Cuddling & Snuggling, Demisexuality (Simon), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Friendship, Getting Together, Insecurity, Kissing, M/M, Most softcore smut you will ever see, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Smut in the last chapter, Talking is key, Very fluffy smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-05 21:21:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15179654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mara97/pseuds/Mara97
Summary: But it turned out that Penny would get the last laugh. Or more like the last, evil cackle as she rocked her sleeping baby in her arms. She had signed him up for a camping trip, with bonding activities, forsinglepeople.Simon hadn't signed up for spending a week out camping, in the Autumn, inScotlandof all places. At least the sudden appearance of his high school rival and roommate made the trip... interesting (and heartwrenching, cuddly, fun and it decreased Simon's lifespan drastically — goddamnit he knew he was bi but Baz wasn't allowed to exists— ).





	1. Sunday & Monday

**Author's Note:**

> Two months later and I deliver some vague concept with feels. And there will be smut somewhere along the way (oh boy, are you in for a ride because I never wrote smut before and it turned out so sappy). But hey, enjoy! My goal is to at least update weekly -- the current chapter count is an estimation.
> 
> In addition, it's poorly edited so... and the character are probably OOC

**SUNDAY**

Penny was his best friend – without a doubt – but right now Simon wanted to disown her. Like, friends didn’t have to be nice to each other 24/7, and they had pulled on some cruel shit on each other. Penny had slammed the door in a girl’s face, the first girl Simon tried to date after he broke up with his high-school sweetheart Agatha. Her reasoning had been she wasn’t the right one. Mostly accidentally, Simon had told Penny’s now-husband, Micah, that she had a crush on him. And last year, Simon had accidentally called her fat. Penny always has been a bit chubby, and Simon’s brain-to-mouth filter was non-existing. Turned out she was pregnant. Good job Simon.

 

But it turned out that Penny would get the last laugh. Or more like the last, evil cackle as she rocked her sleeping baby in her arms. She had signed him up for a camping trip, with bonding activities, for _single_ people. With the goal in mind to find love. And to make things worse, it was autumn. Autumn in Scotland – where the camping trip would take place – was wet and cold.

 

So, it was a rainy day in London when a group of people, ranging from mid-twenties to fifties, were gathering around an overly preppy woman, telling them the plans for the day. Travelling, filling out a form for partner preferences, unpacking and introduction night.

 

It didn’t sound all that bad yet, though Simon wished that they could hurry up. Simon being Simon, he procrastinated packing till the morning, which leads to him forgetting his umbrella. There was so little a cap could do to keep dry, his clothes were already soaked and soppy, and he was slowly turning into a frozen lollipop.

 

By the time Simon felt like he was going to blend in with the soppy landscape, the overly preppy staff-member announced they could enter the bus. Simon was one of the first ones to drag himself into the warmth of the double-decker bus, after letting another staff-member – the woman actually had the decently to look tired and worn unlike her co-worker – checked his name of the list. Penny would kill him if he tapped out. It was just one week, and it wasn’t like they would force him to find someone. It was just a way for ‘older’ people to meet fellow bachelors of their age. Not that Simon was _that_ old. He hoped.

 

“This is going to be exciting,” a woman said to him. Unlike him, she wasn’t soaked through the bone, the vibrant yellow umbrella probably being the reason for it. “I haven’t had a proper date since my divorce three years ago.”

 

Simon offered her an awkward smile. Three years wasn’t so bad; he didn’t have a proper date since he was twenty-two and in college. The good old time in which he actually met people.

 

“Do you think we’ll have separated rooms?” Simon asked, realising that he hardly had picked anything up that the preppy staff-member had told him.

 

The woman grinned cheekily. “No – shared rooms. Single beds though,” she scrunched up her face. “But single beds can be pushed together.” And with a wink, the woman claimed one of the window seats on the upper level of the bus.

 

Flustered and slightly uncomfortable – the woman was probably in her mid-forties – Simon offered her an awkward smile and nod before moving over to the end and claiming a window seat. It would be a seven-hour drive, and Simon longed to take a nap, text with Penny, asking about his goddaughter and eat a lot. Because while he forgot to pack an umbrella, he had packed enough food to last him a lifetime.

 

It turned out that an hour into the drive, his plans have been thrown into the water-soaked trash. Because he had forgotten about the form. The form with questions more difficult than his final exam in college.

 

~*~

 

**“What’s the desired age-range of your partner?”**

Simon draws a blank, like, the third question. The first question was his name, and the second one was the question of his gender. Not even a preferred gender, just the gender he personally identified as (or if he didn’t identify as any gender or multiple).

 

What was a reasonable age-range? Like, there was this some kind rule of thumb – a quick search on the Internet confirmed it – but he wasn’t sure if it fitted him. 22 years-old was quite young – too young in his opinion – and the maximum of 44 years-old was way too high.

 

Rule of thumb thrown out of the window, Simon jotted down an age-range of 26 and 32, with an additional note that they had to be out of college. Dating a college student didn’t sit quite right with him.

 

Considering that this must have been the hardest question, Simon moved on to the fourth one.

 

Turned out, question four was worse.

 

**“What’s your preferred gender to date?”**

He ticked off ‘woman’ without missing a heartbeat. He always has been interested in women, it was easy. However, in the recent years, men had caught his interest as well. It had been a bit of a surprise, but in the end, Simon wasn’t too surprised. Penny hadn’t been either.

 

Back in high school, Simon had a rivalry with this guy called Baz. He was a posh guy, which was to be expected with a name like Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, and he always got on Simon’s nerves. Simon had his reasons to dislike Baz, like the fact this guy had been after his girlfriend and was his roommate through the entirety of high school in some prestigious boarding school. Five years of torture, rivalry and apparently, some sexual tension. Reflecting back on it, Simon could see it. It didn’t help Baz was pretty handsome (old yearbook photo’s made him question his sexuality multiple times).

 

So, reluctantly, he checked ‘man’. Now it was hoping that they wouldn’t pair him up with a guy who expected him to have a hefty amount of experience under his belt, whenever it was in a relationship or in the sack.

 

The rest of the questions were all profoundly personal. Ranging from his favourite foods and colours to what he looked for in a partner and when the last time he had one. In the end, he noted down ‘a long time ago’ and ignore the shame that settled deep in his stomach.

 

This suddenly had gone from a ‘not the best idea’ to ‘I hate you Penny for forcing me to do this’.

 

~*~

 

With camping, Simon had expected tents, wetness and loads of greenery. While there was plenty of wetness and greenery, they weren’t stuck in tents. Instead, there were these small, wooden cabins that fitted two single beds, one bedside table and some storage. This was so much better than sleeping in cold, wet tents.

 

In addition to that, Simon had little to complain at the rest of the evening.

 

His roommate was fine. A guy in his mid-thirties, with dark brown curls, olive skin and a kind face. He, however, was painfully straight, which was fair. Putting matches together was a silly thing to do, they were all adults with a sexual drive. After meeting his roommate, they unpacked, and then there was dinner, which was great. There was so much food, and he enjoyed getting to know a few more people, like his roommate, the lady from the bus and her roommate. The evening activities were fun and laid back, a basic get-to-know each other without pushing people out of their comfort zone.

 

But it went downhill from the moment alcohol was distributed and curt-few was called in. Drunk adults with no way to unwind weren’t ideal. Well, it depended on the person. Simon’s roommate had left once the camp had fallen silence – Simon doubted he was the only one who had sneaked out of their cabin to meet up with someone. Though only slightly buzzed, Simon had just fallen in his bed and curled up in his blanket. Sleep was much nicer than having a one-night stand with someone he would never see again. (Not that he talked out of experience). If only people would actually let him sleep.

 

By the third, separated, knocking on the door, Simon was ready to call a taxi and just go home.

 

The first time, he had been asleep when there had been loud pounding on the door, and before Simon had fully woken up and could form a coherent sentence, a mass of limbs and gross noises entered the cabin. Simon had screamed bloody murder, and the couple had left in a hurry, realising that this cabin wasn’t empty. The second couple was a bit politer, actually knocking till Simon woke up and gave an answer. So instead of screaming bloody murder, he just yelled ‘sod off’ at them. It did the trick. 

 

“Fuck off,” Simon yelled. “Go have sex somewhere else.”

 

The knocking stopped, and Simon supposed they just walked away to find a cabin that was actually empty – Simon doubted many of them actually had stayed in their own cabin.

 

“Is there a bed free?” the person – a guy Simon suppose – asked.

 

Simon didn’t shriek in surprise (he did). Oh, the guy just wanted to have some place to sleep. Or he wanted to bed Simon, but he somehow doubted it. In true Simon fashion – and that was being incapable – he had spent most of his night getting to know a group of lesbians. They were absolute darlings, but it didn’t improve his appeal for anyone who he actually wanted to date (or would want to date him).

 

“For sleeping, _yes_. Otherwise, fuck off.”

 

There was some rattling of the door handle before it was pushed down and the door crept open a little. Simon hissed at the harsh light of someone’s flashlight and buried his face into his pillow.

 

“Tied a sock around the door,” the guy said, voice thick with sleep. “We aren’t fucking, but people won’t be bothering us.”

 

“Great,” Simon mumbled into his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut till the flashlight was turned off.

 

The other bed creaked and groaned as the other guy laid down in it. Simon could hardly blame him – he would have scouted for another place to sleep if he had been sexiled. This started to sound an awful lot like a college experience, though he thankfully roomed with Penny during the entirety of college.

 

“Night,” the man grunted and finally, the flashlight clicked off.

 

Despite sharing a room with a literal stranger, Simon fell himself ease into sleep once again. Now to hoping nobody would come knocking on the door (and his new roommate wasn’t a serial killer).

 

 

**MONDAY**

Simon woke up to a megaphone blaring and loud knocking on the door, with the announcement that breakfast was in 45 minutes.

 

 _Great,_ Simon thought, and for once it wasn’t filled with sarcasm. He had showered in the evening, which meant he neither had to get out of bed early or face the masses of everyone showering in the morning. Or both.

 

Curling into his blanket and letting out a sigh, Simon pried his eyes open and adjusted to the faint light that filtered through the windows. He was staring at his newly gained roommate, and Simon’s heart made a leap – or, more accurately, it dropped like a brick.

 

Grey eyes, brown skin, black hair, even his long, thin nose and the _damn_ widow's peak. Though said widow's peak wasn’t slicked back and was, instead, sleep-mushed and framing the guy’s face nicely. How did he end up sharing a bedroom in a camp for _single_ people with Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch of all people? That guy was, for starters, bloody gorgeous (even a decade later — Simon felt his little bi-heart sing its praise about Baz’s beauty), and he was from a wealthy background. Women were standing in line to date this guy. How did he end up still being single? And why was he that desperate to go to a singles camp?

 

Baz was, unsurprisingly, staring straight back at him, looking shocked. In the five years they had roomed together, Simon had never been graced with this level of emotion coming from Baz. Anger and distaste didn’t count; Simon had seen Baz look plenty of times like that – mostly at him. But the shock was new.

 

“Snow?” Baz whispered.

 

“Baz,” he answered, confirming that he actually recognised him.

 

Baz rolled onto his back and groaned, burying his face into his hands. “Of all people, it has to be you.”

 

“Why?” Simon asked, feeling himself get annoyed with Baz’s attitude. Was it really that bad to see Simon again? They were older and hopefully, a bit wiser, and something as petty as school rivalry shouldn’t matter. “You’re ashamed that you run into someone you know at a single camp? I mean, I’m here too, so we’re in the same boat.”

 

“It’s not as shameful for you as for me,” Baz snapped back, finally rolling onto his side so he could face Simon. You know, eye contact helped to improve a conversation.

 

Simon found it hard to believe this was worse for Baz than for him. Baz, without a doubt, just had broken up with his nth model girlfriend and needed a quick lay – though that didn’t explain why Baz was sleeping in a single bed on the other side of the room and not in bed with another woman.

 

“The last person I dated was Agatha,” Simon said, watching with glee as Baz grew slack-jawed with surprise.

 

“Agatha?” he repeated. “But that was high school.”

 

“Yes, high school,” Simon said. “So stop complaining about being ashamed being here – my last girlfriend broke up with me because we fell out of love _and_ she had her eyes on another bloke.”

 

He threw Baz a glare, which was returned with a trademark Baz scowl.

 

“It’s not my fault Wellbelove liked me better,” Baz argued, voice filled with distaste.

 

It sounded as if it was a horrid thing that a beautiful girl like Agatha liking you. Maybe for Baz, it was, though Simon wondered what kind of women Baz would prefer. Perhaps the ones with dark hair instead of blond like Agatha’s? Or maybe he just wanted a female version of himself, unfairly beautiful but all angst and brooding. Though Penny had ruined the word ‘brooding’ for him ever since she had shown him a chicken brooding. Now he imagined Baz sitting on a nest of eggs, glaring at anyone who comes close, _oh dear._

 

Snickering, Simon tried to not think about a chicken-like Baz. This was bad, so so bad, he had to tell Penny, she would—

 

“What are you laughing at?” Baz snapped, looking murderous. “The last time I checked, you aren’t a masochist.”

 

Wheezing, Simon grabbed his pillow and muffled his laughter. Baz was going to be so pissed when he would find out – not that Simon was ever going to tell him. He wasn’t ready to die yet.

 

“Snow! Tell me,” Baz sounded slightly panicky, which was new. Where was cool and always in control Baz?

 

Lifting up his pillow to sneak a peek at Baz, Simon saw him scowling, eyes spitting fire and – Simon pushed the pillow back in his face. Baz was _blushing_. Like, there was a dark blush sitting on his cheekbones, and it both looked odd and utterly endearing, and Baz wasn’t supposed to be endearing.

 

Before Simon could either calm down his laughter or fully release Baz remained silent, Baz’s single bed moaned and groaned. He had gotten up. Shit.

 

Throwing his pillow aside, Simon half jumped, half rolled out of bed, tripping into the mass of blankets that was wrapped around his legs. He ended up stumbling a few steps and smacking straight into Baz’s chest. To his utter and most surprise, Baz actually wrapped his arms around Simon and stabilised him.

 

“Clumsy as ever,” Baz said, yanking Simon upright and letting go of him. “And now if you value your own life, tell me what was going—”

 

“Breakfast in twenty!” one of the staff members shouted, knocking on their door. “We aren’t saving anything.”

 

To Simon’s delight, Baz looked cross.

 

“I would shower if I were you,” Simon grinned, balancing on the balls of his feet. “Most filthy shower sex should have ended by now, and we won’t have much time left in the evening – they have a scavenger hunt planned.”

 

And now Baz looked surprised. Simon wasn’t sure what happened in the past, like, ten years, but Baz has shown more emotions in the last half-an-hour, or so than he did in the five years they shared a room. Maybe he had matured, and admittedly, Simon had done some maturing on his own. Teasing was fine, fighting, a bit unnecessary. Hell, if Baz hadn’t been straight, Simon would consider flirting with him. He had grown even more handsome over the years.

 

“Snow,” Baz started, sounding a bit unsure, to say the least. “We haven’t seen each other in years, right?”

 

Simon nodded.

 

“Then how do you remember I always shower in the morning.”

 

He didn’t know why he remembers it, he just did. “No idea,” he admitted. “But shouldn’t you go – I mean; you’ll need more than twenty minutes to look at least presentable.”

 

Baz’s expression was quite unreadable. No anger, no frustration. Maybe a little confusion.

 

“Once you managed to fix that rat nest of curls, tell me how to fix my own looks,” Baz retorted, striding over to the door until coming to a sudden halt.

 

“Snow,” Baz said slowly, turning around with a speed that could match a character in a cliche horror movie. “Which cabin number is this?”

 

“Seven? I think.” Simon said, hoping he had recalled the number correctly.

 

Baz groaned. “That’s on the complete another side of the camp – I’m in nineteen –it takes me ten minutes crossing camp, and the shower stalls are almost next to here—”

 

“What do you want, Baz?”

 

It obviously pained him to say it, but it made the odd request Baz had worth it. “Can I borrow some of your clothes and your shampoo?”

 

“Will my commoner's shampoo suffice you?” Simon asked, now just teasing (flirting – okay, he wasn’t going to tell Penny _that_ ).

 

“Yes,” Baz hissed. “Just give it to me. You’re shorter to me, bit some baggy clothes will fit me—”

 

Simon had thrown his pair of baggy sweat straight into Baz’s face, grinning at the guy’s gobsmacked expression. He picked up a sleeping sweater – too big too – and a pair of socks (he over packed on socks). Digging up his shower bag, he found his bottle of shampoo. It was one Penny had bought from him – he was still helpless when it came to care products – and it supposed to perfect his curls. They were just curls, but Penny said it was worth keeping them good-looking — worked wonders on the ladies and gents he tried to woo (not).

 

“Here, catch,” Simon said, tossing all four items at once.

 

Being the superhuman Baz was, he managed to catch everything aside from the socks, which were totally off course.

 

“Do you want my underwear too?” Simon asked when Baz still didn’t move, looking like a frozen statue.

 

“I’m good,” Baz said, flustered and sounding slightly more pitchy than what’s normal. However, before Simon could comment on it, Baz had fled the scene, holding Simon’s clothes and shampoo bottle as a hostage. He hoped that he would get it back – or otherwise he would have to borrow the shampoo of his cabin mate, who was a no-show. How would he even get dressed without clothes? Eh – he knew which cabin Baz slept in, so it was a safe bet that he somehow would get his shampoo back.

**~*~**

The rules for the scavenger hunt was explained during dinner, which was many, many boxes filled with pizza. Simon had to admit that the idea was creative, though he wasn’t sure if he was excited for it as he previously had been.

 

Because initially, Simon thought they were going to do a silly scavenger hunt. Like finding actual items, like a shoe, maybe some (hopefully clean) underwear, a bra, a sock, you know, items from the campers they nicked during lunch or breakfast.

 

On the other hand, making it a dating game fit in with the theme of the camp, which was about trying to find love among the sad and lonely (and general bonding between people_. The ‘rules’ or most likely, ‘guidelines’, were as follows:

  * There are 350 boxes hidden in the forest.
  * There are seven colour boxes, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple and pink.
  * The official teams are announced tomorrow, keep your team colour a secret.
  * Each box contains a slip of information about someone of your team/dating pool.
  * The team with most points/boxes found doesn’t have to do the chores tomorrow.
  * The game ends as soon as the megaphone goes off – check in with one of the staff members, and then you’re free to go.



 

So Simon would be ploughing through the forest, looking for yellow boxes which held snippets about possible dating material (or himself).

 

The only bright light of it all was that he wouldn’t be doing it alone. While partnering up wasn’t exactly encouraged, the staff didn’t bother to stop them. So one of the ladies he befriended on the first night – he was pretty sure her name was Amelia, or Amy for short – had joined him for a long track through the forest.

 

If he had been a stranger, Simon would have assumed the two of them were siblings. She had long, copper curls with an impressive height that made her nearly as tall as Simon – who was one-eighty – and she had a smarter of freckles on her nose. The most significant difference was their eyes, with Simon’s being blue and her’s brown. She was cute, but as an open lesbian _and_ a college student, Amy was off the board. It explained why they had different coloured slips (Simon officially had dubbed the rules as ‘guidelines’, as they had shared the colours of their team as soon as they were out of earshot).

 

“Found a yellow one,” Amy announced, stretching out her arm to pluck a yellow box from a low-hanging tree branch. It was the first box they found that actually matched their colours – they had crossed two blue ones, and a green one, but both yellow and pink had seemed absent.

 

Catching the box Amy tossed to him, Simon opened the latch and took out the slip of paper. Under the faint moonlight, Simon managed to read the word scribbled on the slip.

 

“Violin,” Simon read out loud, not wanting to shut out Amy. “That’s all it says.”

 

Amy hummed. “Maybe they’re a violinist?”

 

To be fair, the first thought that popped up in his mind was the Baz played the violin back in high school. Very well, mind you. It was funny to think that he might be in the same dating pool as Baz, though it seemed unlikely. Baz was pretty much straight, and Simon was quite convinced he was placed in a group of mostly bisexuals or others who didn’t identify as just straight.

 

“Probably,” Simon said, unable to wipe the grin off his face. Baz and him, dating. Ha. “An old classmate of mine used to play the violin – he’s actually here too.”

 

“Really?” Amy asked, excitement strong in her voice. “And, do you like him?”

 

Scrunching up his nose, Simon shook his head. “No, we were rivals in high school. He’s handsome, not going to lie, but I’m not sure if I can get past our history.”

 

“Of what?” Amy was enjoying this way too much, now opting to school him.  “You didn’t get along during high school. When both of you were in the middle of your teens – just try to date that guy if you want.”

 

“Straight.”

 

“Have you asked him?”

 

Simon clenched his jaw shut, realising he had no answer for this. Well, he had, but not the answer he desired. He had never asked what Baz’s preference was, he just had assumed.

 

Catching sight of a poor, yellow paint job, Simon changed the focus of the situation. “Another one,” he said, pointing at the box hidden in the high shrubbery.

 

“Just ask him if you’re interested,” Amy said before picking up the box, opening the latch herself and reading the note.

 

“The stars,” she read out loud. “Whoever this is, they’re a keeper – the stars are beautiful.”

 

Simon felt unease settle in his stomach. Of course, this was only the second box they found, but it was scarily coincidental that two times, they had described Baz. His love for the violin, his love for the stars (Simon had accidentally found out about that one – it was pretty cute actually). He hoped that they would start to find the pink boxes soon because he could tease Amy instead and save his own hide (and heart).

 

~*~

 

What should have been a scavenger hunt turned into a hostage situation? No – there were no guns or criminals – it wasn’t a bank robbery. No, it soon turned out that people snatched up every box they could find and used it as both leverage and trade-ware. By now, Simon and Amy had traded more boxes for their own than actually finding them – Amy had gotten a surprising number of thirteen pink boxes – which was more than average (this was seven boxes a person). Simon had managed to find/bargain for a total of nine yellow boxes.

 

On one hand, Simon felt victorious. They both had done well, and maybe he would manage to tap out of chores for tomorrow. On the other hand, he was tired, sore and slightly cranky. Amy was good company, but after the fifth, accidental slap of a branch in your face, the love started to grow strained. The strained love was mutual, so Simon wasn’t surprised she dumped him the first opportunity she got.

 

Walking through a seemingly empty part of the forest – Simon assumed this part was already looted – he was surprised to run into two other people. Which was even more surprising was that one of them was Baz – like, what were the chances he would run into Baz? Because up until now, the two only had seen each other in the morning, when they awkwardly realised they had shared a bedroom again after a decade.

 

“Do you guys trade?” the woman at Baz’s side asked. She was pretty, with pale pink hair, warm skin and a full figure. Simon wouldn’t be surprised if Baz picked this woman as his possible partner (whenever it was for one week or for life).

 

Amy’s eyes lit up. “Rose, wasn’t it?” she asked, batting her eyelashes prettily.

 

The woman, Rose, nodded and offered her a bright smile, not even batting an eye at Simon.

 

Okay, so no future Mrs Grimm-Pitch.

 

“Yes, you’re Amy right?” she asked. “So, you guys trade?”

 

“Yes, and depends, which colour?”

 

The obviously flirtatious banter between them made Simon both feel happy – he liked Amy – and nauseous. Yes, he knew he was painfully single and an awful flirt, no need to rub it in.

 

“Pink for me,” Rose said before pointing at Baz, who looked like he wanted to be everywhere but here. “And yellow for him.”

 

Amy smiled apologetically. “Same colour combo here,” she said. Baz looked relieved for a brief moment before Amy spoke again and somehow managed to destroy all of his hope and dreams (at least Simon classified the crestfallen expression like that). “Pink for me and yellow for this guy.”

 

Rose looked absolutely delighted. “So we can pair up,” she said to Amy. “We can hunt for the pink boxes while the guys can hunt for yellow – it is getting a bit tense between us.”

 

Thankfully, Baz dared to smile sheepishly.

 

Before either Simon or Baz had any saying in it because inevitably one of them would protest, Rose had secured her own bag with boxes – they had gotten a tote bag in the beginning to store their boxes in – and tugged Amy along to the path Simon just had left behind. Amy only shouted a ‘goodbye’ over her shoulder before the two of them were left alone.

 

This wasn’t ideal. It was late into the evening, Simon was tired, and he was all alone with Baz in an unknown forest. It didn’t help that they shared a dating pool, which was surprising. Though maybe Baz was bisexual – it would be silly to limit one-self just to the wonders of one sex (or whatever vague poetry stuff his brain churned out. Simon dreaded the day he had to explain to someone — if he was dating a guy — that he also liked women.

 

“So,” Simon said, running a hand through his curls. “Are we teaming up or—”

 

Baz decided to take on the no-nonsense approach and just grabbed Simon’s wrist and pulled him along to God-knows-where.

 

They walked for a while before Simon decided that enough is enough. Pulling his wrist free, he came to a sudden halt in an open-roofed clearing. The sky was clear, the stars twinkling merrily.

 

“Snow, what—”

 

“We’re staying here,” Simon said, sitting down on the damp earth. “I’m tired.”

 

Baz frowned. “You sound like a kid. Don’t you want to win this game?”

 

Simon shrugged. “I don’t care much,” he admitted. “Penny forced me to go here – I just want to have some fun, meet people and go home at the end of the week.”

 

To his surprise, Baz also sat down. Still wearing Simon’s sweats which were a bit of a surprise. Simon had expected Baz to get changed somewhere during lunch or dinner.

 

“My aunt forced me to go,” Baz confessed, fiddling with a pine cone and ripping out the small wings. “I was inches away from calling a cab last night after being exiled from my room—”

 

“Sexiled,” Simon corrected, making Baz grow a little flustered.

 

“Fine, sexiled. Anyway, I was so close to leaving, and still am – dating isn’t my thing.”

 

Simon found it hard to believe dating wasn’t Baz’s thing. The guy was handsome, mysterious and had a bit of a bad boy vibe to him (and a vampire one – but vampires were made kind of uncool after Twilight). But he was also a bit dorky – loving stars, really?

 

“You surprise me,” Baz said.

 

Blinking in surprise – because Simon simply had no idea how to react on that – he stared at Baz with what must be a puzzled expression.

 

A way more familiar look of annoyance flickered on Baz’s features. There was the Baz Simon had been familiar with.

 

“I expected you to mock me,” Baz admitted.

 

“Why?” Sim asked, feeling genuinely surprised that Baz was expecting that. They had grown up at least a bit. “I haven’t dated properly since Agatha, and I broke up.”

 

“But I always gloated that I was better than you – that your girlfriend like me better, implying I would have a better life than you,” Baz said, flushing darkly. “And now we’re here.”

 

Chewing on the bottom lip, Simon wasn’t sure what to say. Yes, it was funny to see that Baz was on the same level of patheticness as he was, but why should he mock Baz about it? If nothing else, it was a relief. A relief to see that failing at dating wasn’t exclusive to him.

 

“I found slips about you, I think,” Simon blurted out, unable to think of anything else worthwhile saying. He never had been good at these things, maybe one of the reasons Agatha had wanted to break up with him ages ago. His incapability to properly handle emotions. “Violin – you play the violin, right.”

 

Baz nodded, doing a poor job hiding his surprise.

 

“And the stars,” Simon gestured up to the starry sky. “I remember you liked the stars – judging from the many astronomy books you had in high school.”

 

Baz looked gobsmacked.

 

“How do you remember all that?”

 

Simon shrugged. “Five years of being roommates.”

_And being absolutely obsessed with you_ , he mentally added.

 

Baz, thankfully, decided to remain silent and just flop down on his back, probably taking in the stars above. Feeling like he wasn’t going to get up anyway, Simon laid down, his feet slightly nudging Baz’s.

 

As time passed, Simon heard people moved close by, excited whispers, bickering and noises that outdoor sex was apparently a thing. But they were little more than background noises – he was too busy thinking (Penny would have a field day if she knew that Simon was actually thinking things trough).

 

“Hey Baz,” Simon asked after what must be an hour. He was surprised that Baz even responded, as he might as well had fallen asleep. “Do you like guys?”

 

Honestly, Simon had expected Baz to laugh and brush it off, probably asking if he looked like a ‘gay man’. At least, that was an answer got from a guy he maybe wanted to date. Turned out he was gay, closeted gay which was perfectly fine. However, the response was a bit rude and hurtful. Because he had seriously liked the guy, and being shot like it was a joke being gay, or that you had to look gay to be gay—

 

“Wait, repeat that,” Simon asked, realising he had missed Baz’s response.

 

Baz sighed loudly. “I said ‘yes, Snow, I like guys’.”

 

“Oh,” Simon said, surprise clearly audible in his voice. “So you’re bi?”

 

“Gay, actually,” Baz corrected. “Why do you care? Sexuality crisis?”

 

Baz was gay. Holy shit Baz was gay. Which meant that Baz was interested in guys, though Simon doubted he was interested in guys like him. Because Simon was just Simon. Jesus, why did he suddenly want to date Baz?

 

“Had that a few years ago,” Simon admitted, sneaking a glance at Baz. “Figured I was bisexual, though I never have been with a guy.”

 

Baz inhaled sharply, most likely surprised by Simon’s confession. There, however, was no taunting, no ‘are you sure’. Because the ‘are you sure’ was familiar.

 

“That’s… cool,” Baz said. “Which guy did it do for you?”

 

“It just hit one day, like, _oh, that makes sense._ ”

 

It had quite literally hit Simon one day — smack dab on his lips when a not quite sober anymore guy decided to kiss him when Simon had been out drinking with his co-workers. There never was a relationship — they guy was _way_ too young (freshman college — just turned eighteen) — but it had made him realise he didn’t mind kissing guys per se. And then things like gay porn followed, with a mix of willingly dating ninety percent of a movie cast and an awkward confession to Penny that he might like both genders. Penny, being the wonderful friend she was, just explained that he was most likely either bisexual or pansexual and that she wasn’t exactly surprised.

 

 

“Bunce told you you’re bi?”

 

Simon sighed. “Penny told me.”

 

Baz snickered. “As bright as ever, Snow. Though why the curiosity? Want to date me?”

 

Embarrassingly, Simon couldn’t get himself to say ‘no’. After all, Baz wasn’t unattractive. It was just that a romantic relationship between the two seemed hard to imagine. The fact that they weren’t arguing with each other was already a far stretch from reality. From what was expected of them.

 

“I was just curious because we’re in the same group. It seemed unlikely that I was in a group with just straight people — that made me noting down my preference useless. But I thought—”

 

“—I was straight,” Baz finished. “You seriously thought I was straight?”

 

This guy was impossible. “Of course I did — you tried to steal my girlfriend in high school.”

 

Simon’s brain did a victory dance when Baz has left loss for words. At least, there was no answer, so Simon considered it a victory.

 

“You’re very dense, Snow, did you know that?”

 

Goddammit, not again.

 

“Are you kidding me, what did I miss? You weren’t actually trying to steal Agatha away?”

 

Baz laughed — oh god, Baz was _laughing_ — and simply left Simon hanging.

 

“You’re evil!”

 

This didn’t help his case, as Baz only started to laugh louder and Simon felt himself grow flustered. It frightened him that he wasn’t sure that it was caused by the embarrassment. Baz’s laugh was a strong contender, sadly enough.


	2. Tuesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not in love with this chapter, but it's okay I suppose. I seriously appreciate the comments though! (And sorry for the slew of original characters. The book has a pretty small cast, to begin with, and most of them weren't quite reusable). Please let me know if I wrote anything offensive regarding several things, I try to portray things realistically, but I'm not quite familiar with most things. Uhg, so many things, my English is #OnPoint today.

**TUESDAY**

Simon wondered if the staff knew they were in Scotland, in the middle of autumn. Because this wasn’t exactly the best weather to play with water.

 

Shiver, sweater drenched and clinging to his skin, Simon held three, water-soaked, sponge balls against his chest. His aim was absolutely miserable, like, he had managed to lobe a ball straight against a teammates head (poor Percy). The opposite team — team purple — had been delighted. His own team, not so much. But it turned out he had his strength when it came to dodgeball.

 

He was good at dodging.

 

They were engaged in a game of dodgeball against the purple team while the other teams were doing other activities. It was their third round of activities, the first one being archery and the second one real-life sized Jenga against the pink team. The all ladies team had utterly decimated them.

 

And at first, it looked like the purple team, existing out of mostly college students, were busy kicking their arses. Simon’s team wasn’t exactly old. He and Baz were the youngest, and Hailey was the oldest by being thirty-three. But they weren’t as young as those little babies who might as well be high school graduates.

 

But while team purple was fitter than them, they didn’t have the four-star set-up Simon’s team had. Sam — a woman today they had announced — had a poor aim, but could lobe the ball all across the field, effectively throwing them amongst the crowd of yellow team members (you sort of held the other team’s member’s prisoner behind your field. If a ball managed to get to them, one of them was allowed to return to their side). Carol — short for Caroline — used to play semi-professional baseball in high school. She had a decent aim — better than average — but she caught the balls with practised ease. Simon had been promoted as the ball carrier and collector. All he had to do was collect the balls that had missed their target, keep them, and distribute them to either Sam or Baz. Because Baz was a monster on the field. Despite playing soccer for most of his life — it seemed that he had an impeccable aim. And no guilt of lobbing a soaked ball at one of the poor college students.

 

This system did work wonders. The rest of their team spend most of the time walked between the ‘prison’ on the opposite side, or trying to not run in the way of a vicious Baz or Sam, the only person who could possibly free them if they got hit. (The staff had been astounded by the fact Sam could throw this far — they had expected only a few balls to make it to the prisoners which made the game a lot shorter).

 

“Snow!” Baz shouted, pushing his wet hair out his face. (Why didn’t he realise he was bi sooner?)

 

“It’s Simon!” Simon shouted back, dodging a well-aimed ball and snatching it off the ground. “And left!”

 

To his surprise, Baz actually listened to his command and dived left, avoiding the well-aimed throw of one of the students (it was a bit unfair — two of them were part of the school’s dodgeball team).

 

Tossing two balls to Carol and one to both Mervin and Hailey — short-range throwing was fine — Simon jogged over to Baz and hauled him up. The floor was too muddy to get up yourself, as plenty had noticed. (The last game had resulted in an all-out mud fight).

 

“We need to get Sam back,” Baz grumbled, trying to wipe the dirt off his hands. “Our numbers are getting low.”

 

There were five left of them — scrap that, now there were just four — which meant that half of the group was gone. And without Sam, they had no chance freeing anyone. Unless they would be banking on luck. On the other hand, the other team had three people left. The two dodgeball players and a guy who looked like he spent half of his life in the gym. Lean, fit and _fast_.

 

“Or we end the game,” Simon said, eyes catching a glimpse of yellow.

 

With an _oof_ , Simon caught a soppy wet dodgeball, holding it close this his chest. Both the impact and his tight grip squeezed the thing dry, water squirting into his face, hair and running down his relatively dry pants. Well, he thankfully didn’t look like he just had pissed himself, his pants were too wet for that.

 

“Kevin, out!” one of the referees shouted.

 

Bewildered, Simon realised catching a ball also meant the other player was out. It was four against two now.

 

Loosening his grip on the ball, Simon pushed it in Baz’s arms. Slack yawed, it took Baz embarrassingly long to gather his wits and hurl the ball at one of the girls. Whenever Carol had known their plan or not, it worked out perfect. The girl had been too busy blocking Carol’s well-aimed throw to notice Baz’s. With a soppy noise, the ball smacked against her side. Four — _eh, shit, that was Carol_ — three against one.

 

  “What now — shit,” Baz cursed as a ball smacked Mervin in the chest, eliminating him too. Now they were down to one against two — which was basically one against one because Simon had zero chance of actually hitting the girl — eh, woman. Female. Damn it.

 

Before Simon could ask what Baz’s plan was, he was hauled back, creating some distance between them and the opponent.

 

“I have a plan,” Baz said, gaze strained on the woman.

 

The woman took the opportunity to gather a few balls, though never letting either Simon or Baz get out of sight.

 

“What’s it?” Simon asked.

 

Out of experience, Simon knew that Baz was pretty brilliant. Maybe as bright as Penny, which was saying a _lot._ So if someone could get them out of this situation, it would be Baz.

 

“We split up, a little” Baz started, gathering some of the foam balls himself. “And hope she will grab the bait — if she’s distracted, you can throw her out. She obviously will go after me as I’m the better thrower out of the two of us.”

 

“But I can’t hit people for shit,” Simon said. Baz’s plan was flawed, very flawed. Like, he was actually counting on Simon being capable of a decent throw?

 

Baz waved his concerns off, pushing his hair out of his face. _Hot damn_. “It will be fine, I know you.”

 

It wasn’t exactly reassuring, but Simon knew that he had zero chance of changing Baz’s mind. He didn’t have a better idea, and Baz could be pretty stubborn.

 

Taking one of the foam balls Baz had collected, they returned to the line that divides the two fields. The college girl had quite the pile of balls lying next to her, though she was only holding two. She was, rightfully so, eyeing them suspiciously.

 

The moment Baz forced a grin on his lips, their plan went down the drain. The girl’s eyes lit up and with little effort lobed a ball Simon’s way. Losing his own ball, Simon opted to dodge it — it was too fast to catch — and scrambled closer to Baz, realising his error too late. Now she had the opportunity to throw out either Simon or Baz in one throw. Shit, _shit_ , SHIT.

 

Trying to regain footing, Simon saw her throw the next ball. It was aimed at Baz. He should be able to dodge it—

 

But that would mean she would hit Simon. A one on one would be in her favour — she had more foam balls, and she was trained in this. She would absolutely _kill_ Baz.

 

Trying not to actually slip in the mud, which was hard, Simon _dived_.

 

Or more like, launched himself up in the air — more horizontal than anything else because he just had to slip when pushing off — and snatching the ball right out the air. Keeping the ball close to his chest like a rugby-ball, Simon forced himself to do some kind of awkward somersault and ended up flopping straight on his back and into the mud. He really, really needed a shower after this.

 

A whistle was blown, the girl’s name was shouted, and the end of the game was announced, team yellow coming out victorious.

 

There were a few soppy footsteps before Baz loomed over him. He didn’t actually look displeased, which was a good thing. Maybe he wouldn’t be angry with Simon screwing up his plan.

 

“Good job Snow,” Baz said, holding out his hand to haul Simon up on his feet. “Acting just like I expected.”

 

Ignoring the surprise that clouded his mind, Simon just smiled awkwardly and let himself being hauled up. _Ugh_ , this was so, so gross.

 

“Good job Simon!” Carol said, slapping her hand on his muddy back. “Didn’t know you were this athletic.”

 

“I’m not—”

 

“—He isn’t.”

 

Simon flushed as he realised Baz was thinking the exact same thing — and they were talking at the same time. This was one of these creepy things Penny and her husband did: thinking about the same thing and talking at the same time. Oh god, where they becoming like Penny—

 

Carol whistled impressed. “You sound like my parents — if I didn’t know better you know each other for ages.”

 

“Well…” Simon said, feeling himself growing slightly flustered. They hadn’t mentioned their ‘past life’ to anyone. “Five years of boarding school — roommates.”

 

To his horror, Carol’s face lit up. “Knew it,” she said excitedly. “High school sweethearts, that explains so much. Why did you two ever break up?”

 

The only good part of this conversation was the fact Baz looked equally as uncomfortable as Simon felt. He wasn’t the only one suffering.

 

“We hated each other,” Simon forced out. “There wasn’t an ounce of love between us.”

 

Carol looked between the two of them, surprise being the only thing evident on her face.

 

“Oh,” she said. “ _Oh_.”

 

Looking at Baz, Simon was surprised to see some sadness lingering there. Maybe he regretted being rivals during high school? Simon did — seeing how well he got along with Baz and they haven’t seen each other in a decade or so.

 

~*~

 

What Simon had dubbed as ‘Sports Day of Bonding and Realisations’ offered a new perspective to Simon’s life. Or, well, to make it sound less fancy, ground-breaking and more realistic, it brought some realisations to the table that Simon hadn’t expected he would face.

 

The first one was that if he and Baz weren’t fighting each other, if they were fighting someone else, together, it turned out they were a formidable duo. Turned out that they had taken more lives than the innocent looking team pink. Three-legged raced? They held the record of the quickest run. In volleyball, their opponents didn’t stand a chance against their setter-and-hitter combo. Simon could take a hit, and Baz could slam the ball into oblivion. (So could Sam, only she managed to land more out of bounds than in). Baz had a knack for puzzles (Simon not so much, but he did fantastic in the eating contest). The only game they didn’t have a tactical advantage was tug-a-rope, which was mostly pulling and trying not to fall smack-dab into the mud.

 

And the second realisation was that he — Simon Snow that is — was totally into Baz. At least on a physical base. The guy was pretty fit. Not like ripped — there was no six-pack — but his stomach was pretty solid. Simon could tell out of first-handed experience because he somehow had ended pressed flush against said stomach, trying to get a steady grip in the mud and not letting go of the rope. Tug-a-rope was a dangerous game, especially if the person behind you was more often on your mind than not. (He had an issue. An issue called Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch who was too good-looking for his own good, and his personality wasn’t too bad either).

 

Honestly, Simon had expected to forget all about ‘Sports Day of Bonding and Realisations’ after dinner — the program was jam-packed and they barely had time to breathe, not to mention to ponder over things. But although they were having a game night — silly high school games like ‘truth or dare’, or ‘never have I ever’, Simon couldn’t get Baz off his mind. Not his flat stomach, muscular arms, sexy hair, grey eyes or his small, absolutely genuine, smile. He was royally fucked.

 

So once the game night was over, Simon whipped out his phone and called Penny. She was his reasoning — she would be able to talk him out of it.

 

“Si, do you know how late it is?” Penny sounded groggy, as if she had just woken up—

 

Shit. It was well past twelve. Penny was going to murder him.

 

“Past twelve?” Simon answered awkwardly, feeling himself shrink a little. She wasn’t there, but it still felt like she could glare at him. “I’m sorry, but I need your advice!”

 

Despite being annoyed with him, which was fair, she didn’t hang up.

 

“Please tell me you didn’t get someone pregnant?”

 

Chocking on his own spit, Simon shot a few other campers a feeble smile and a thumbs up. “No, of course not, but there is someone…”

 

Penny let out a loud whooping noise. “Finally!” she said cheerily, tiredness gone. “Knew you would, who is it? What are they like?”

 

“Well, that’s the issue,” Simon admitted.

 

“Are they in college?”

 

“No.”

 

“Okay,” Penny paused, muttering under her breath for a few moments. “Are they older than thirty-five?”

 

“No.”

 

“Are they against the fact you’re bisexual?”

 

“No.”

 

“Well, unless they’re a criminal—”

 

“—He’s not,” Simon protested.

 

Simon could feel Penny glare at him. “It should be no issue.”

 

Chuckling humourlessly, Simon sat down on one of the stray tree-trucks that littered the camping side.

 

“I know one,” Simon said. “One called Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.”

 

It did render Penny silence, so Simon counted it as a small victory.

 

“I see no issue.”

 

“Penny!” Simon shouted, feeling scandalised and foremost, betrayed. “You should be supporting me, explaining that my feelings are just out deprivation, that I—”

 

“Si, I love you,” Penny said, though she didn’t sound quite that in love as Simon would like. “But through the entirety of high school, there was just _something_ between the two of you. Once you came out as bisexual, everything made sense. So that you suddenly realise that a decade ago, you might as well had dated Baz, doesn’t come as a surprise. But that’s a decade ago, you shouldn’t be hung up about it now. Just woo the new guy and forget about Baz.”

 

“But—”

 

“—Tomorrow,” Penny argued. “Listen, if he’s the real deal, there is no need to be hung up about a decade old crush. You can tell me tomorrow if you still need to talk about it.”

 

“Penny,” Simon said feverishly. Was it that farfetched that he actually met Baz again at a singles camp? (Yes, it was). “I—”

 

Then there was wailing in the background, and Simon’s heart dropped. The baby was awake, which meant that Penny definitely would end the call. He wasn’t quite so sure if he wanted to call back tomorrow. Maybe he should send her a picture of Baz? That way, she might believe him. On the other hand, would Penny being an actual help in this? She probably would say he should find another guy to date — dating your ex-rival can turn out complicated.

 

“Okay, fine. Good luck with taking care of my goddaughter.”

 

“Simon,” Penny sighed. “Call me in the morning, seriously, you sound distressed.”

 

“It’s fine,” Simon grumbled. “It’s nothing — it was silly. I have to go to bed before I end up being sexiled.”

 

“Okay Si, goodnight.”

 

“Goodnight Penny.”

 

~*~

 

Sexiled. He had managed to jinx himself, and now he was standing in front of his cabin door, eyeing the sock tied around the doorknob with horror. Fuck, he was actually sexiled, and now he needed a place to sleep. Maybe he could sleep in the main area? It was inside, and the tables would be pretty okay to sleep on.

 

 _Wait_. He could just crash in Baz’s cabin. If he wasn’t sexiled too and his roommate was out. He hoped that Baz’s roommate was out because sleeping on the floor sucked and sharing a bed with Baz was a no-go. (Simon was pretty sure both his heart and dick wouldn’t make out of that situation unharmed).

 

Avoiding the few staff members who were on patrol — they weren’t particularly trying hard by how intensely they were eying their phones — Simon managed to find cabin nineteen.

 

Pressing his ear against the door, Simon couldn’t hear anything suspicious. So no sex, probably. Baz might be asleep though, but he didn’t care. Baz had woken him up on the first night so this would be his revenge.

 

Knocking on the door, Simon impatiently waited for a response.

 

“Fuck off,” came a grumpy, tired and distinctively _Baz_ voice.

 

“It’s Simon — got sexiled.”

 

It didn’t sound as funny now he was in the situation himself.

 

There was some stumbling, muttering and a loud bang — followed by a slew of curse words.

 

The door was pulled up, and a grumpy looking, bleary-eyed Baz stood in the opening. A Baz who wasn’t wearing a shirt. Fu—

 

“I swear Snow,” Baz said, glaring at him. “You do this purely out of revenge.”

 

“Partly,” Simon admitted. “But I seriously got sexiled and—”

 

Baz must be in a hurried mood because he pulled Simon inside and pushed him into the direction of the second single bed.

 

“Are you sure it’s clean?” Simon asked, recalling that Baz had been sexiled on the first night.

 

Baz snorted. “It’s clean, I have a decent roommate, thankfully. Plus, they have a laundry service here, remember?”

 

Simon had forgotten that there was a laundry service. But he was glad the sheets were clean because he otherwise would have slept on the ground and curl up in the sweater he was wearing (or he had to share a bed with Baz — that was not happening anytime soon).

 

Muttering a ‘thanks’, Simon stripped down till his t-shirt and underwear. The clothes were dropped on the ground, but he doubted the floor was much dirtier than the clothes themselves. He should make use of that laundry service.

 

“How is Bunce doing?”

 

The question came out of nowhere and caught Simon off guard. Since when did Baz care about Penny? They were study rivals — either she or Baz had the highest grade in class. But outside of that? They didn’t interact all that much.

 

“Got married to Micah — we met him in college — and just had a baby.”

 

Baz muttered under his breath, sounding somewhat annoyed.

 

“And you told me to use my words,” Simon snorted. “What’s eating you?”

 

Apparently, a few grunts seemed to be a sufficient answer for Baz. Simon, however, just wanted to roll his eyes.

 

“Baz.”

 

“Fine,” Baz grumbled. “It’s just… weird. It feels like no time has passed like we’re right back in high school, only ninety percent of our classmates already have figured out their future, have settled down and we…”

 

Simon imagined Baz dramatically reach out his hand to the ceiling, contemplating his life. He was dramatic enough for that. At least, when he used to be a broody teenager, he was, nowadays though… he seemed a bit more normal. As far as Baz would be ever considered normal.

 

“We are still stuck here, sharing a room and being awful at anything dating related?” Simon supplied, unable to stop his smile.

 

“Who says I’m awful at anything dating related?”

 

“Your short list of ex-boyfriends?”

 

“Fair enough.”

 

Simon snorted, curling up in his borrowed blanket. It was weird — a decade ago Baz would never have agreed with him. On the other hand, a decade ago, they wouldn’t talk to each other. There would be no good night, no ‘kindness’. Or proper communication and courtesy because they haven’t even been incredibly buddy-buddy with each other.

 

“This conversation isn’t leaving this room,” Baz said, a certain sharpness to his voice.

 

Excited, Simon turned around, so he came face to face with Baz — with a metre in between, because separated single beds. He wasn’t going to lie, this almost felt some kind of slumber party. A slumber party with two grown-ass men who were talking about how bad they sucked at dating.

 

“Do I have your word?” Baz asked, and reluctantly, Simon nodded.

 

Baz visibly relaxed, making his face look almost soft.

 

“Do you think,” Baz paused, hesitation thick in his voice. “That a thing like this camp works? That there are genuinely people, who meet someone, hit it off and date afterwards. I mean, is there anyone here who piqued your interest.”

 

Simon wanted to laugh, call it silly and explain how this, most likely, was just a week of meeting people, getting laid and go back to one’s personal life. But he couldn’t. His tongue laid heavy in his mouth, his heart was pounding, and his mind had formed another answer — one he wasn’t quite happy to share yet.

 

Because there was someone who piqued his interest. Someone who has been on Simon’s mind for the bigger part of the last twenty-four hours.  But no way he was going to tell Baz that — he wasn’t even sure what to do with those feelings himself. Probably it was the shock of seeing Baz again, and realising how different he was, how different _they_ were. But he could keep it vague because Baz hadn’t asked about specifics.

 

“Maybe,” Simon mumbled. “I mean, you meet people, and some people are hitting it off well. But it’s also just fun and… _yes_. I — yes, there is someone I find interesting. On the other hand, I haven’t been on a date in ages, and this is just a week, so it might as well be a temporary fling, and I don’t want that, I—”

 

Simon’s mind shut down, screaming that it was too much information to share. But it was the truth, which is why he was so against this camp in the first place. He had explained it to Penny, but she argued he just hadn’t found the right one yet. You couldn’t find the right one in just a week, it could take weeks, months, maybe years to figure out whenever someone is the right one for you. He always had thought Agatha was the one, but she wasn’t. And he always thought that in no way he and Baz could ever be something, and yet here they were, Baz making Simon doubt everything that ever was between the two of them.

 

“You don’t do one-night stands,” Baz concluded, not prying much.

 

Simon nodded. “They scare me.”

 

Not because the idea of hooking up with a stranger for one night never has been appealing. There had been moments he had wondered about it. Sex didn’t disgust him or made him feel uncomfortable. He wasn’t worried about the sex; he was worried about what happened after. Because Simon had attachment-issues. He was frightened, frightened of the idea that a one-night stand would lead to a one-sided emotional attachment. So he simply couldn’t imagine him sleeping with someone who didn’t care about him, who would just leave his life like his parents had done, like Agatha had done (they had broken up by the time she left for America, but still— she had been his friend, and suddenly she was gone).

 

Realising what he just had told Baz, Simon felt himself grow flustered and rolled onto his back, finding new-born interest in the ceiling.

 

“But it doesn’t matter. Anyway, I’m going to sleep — night!”

 

Curling up in his blanket, Simon squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will himself to sleep.

 

Simon flinched when something nudged his leg, and the second time Simon didn’t even bother. It probably was Baz being a nuisance. On the other hand, it was Baz. Since when was Baz actually acting childish?

 

“Stop it,” Simon grunted.

 

“No,” Baz said with determination in his voice. “Not till you stop acting childish.”

 

“Says the one prodding me,” Simon snapped, trying to kick Baz’s foot away.

 

Sadly enough, Simon stood little chance. Baz had two advantages: he was taller than Simon, and he could see what he was doing. Simon was buried in the blanket and was lying flat on his stomach.

 

Simon squeaked when Baz managed to capture his blanket and tug it away.

 

“Hey!” Simon shouted, capturing the tail-end of the blanket. But it wasn’t enough, and now Baz had two and he zero. No way he could sleep like this, it was simply too cold. “Give it back!”

 

“No.”

 

Scrap being civil with each other, Simon was ready to murder Baz. He wanted to sleep, not discuss something as silly as abandonment issues and Simon’s feelings towards Baz (not that Baz knew _that_ little detail).

 

Scrambling out of bed, Simon stood, looming over Baz and glaring at him. Not that Baz was faced. He had nestled himself in the blanket pile, looking perfectly content.

 

Was he seriously — damn it.

 

“Move it,” Simon grumbled, lifting the side of the blanket and pushing himself underneath it. He was pretty much pressed against Baz, who had grown stiff at his touch, but Simon was at least warm and comfortable. A bit squashed, a bit _too_ warm, and it had been ages since he had been this close to another human that wasn’t his goddaughter or Penny.

 

“Snow, what are you doing?” Baz said, voice muffled by the blanket pile.

 

Baz wiggled around before huffing and doing something that caused Simon to squeak and flush. He was pulled close to Baz’s chest, an arm wrapped around his waist and a nose in his hair. Shit, Baz was spooning him. This was a terrible idea — he should have stolen it back.

 

“Stop fidgeting,” Baz grumbled into his hair. “You looked like you needed a hug — plus you’re warm.”

 

Was this really Baz? Because this was something Baz would have never, _ever_ done back in high school. But this wasn’t high school Baz, this was adult Baz who apparently noticed Simon’s discomfort, possible abandonment issues, worries and knowing that he needed some physical comfort and reassurance. (It was surprising how well Baz knew him — or he was very predictable. But he was going to take the cuddling any day over talking about his feelings).

 

“Now, _sleep_ , you idiot.”

 

Ah, that was the Baz Simon knew.


	3. Wednesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got in a bit of a writing slump. I honestly like this chapter loads better than the previous one. Editing is a bit sloppy, but that's nothing new. The next chapter will be out way sooner (I write one chapter ahead in case of sudden writing-blocks and oh boy, is chapter 4 a monster).

**WEDNESDAY**

 

Apparently, Simon had a thing for cuddling. Not that he told Baz that, instead he acted like an annoying brat and wiggled himself out of Baz’s hold in the morning and got dressed, feeling cold in more than one way.

 

But he ignored the feeling of loneliness — god damn it Penny! — Simon went down to breakfast, where the plans of the day were told. A visit to the close-by village combined with a picture hunt. Each team was split up in duos or trios (no — don’t think about it like that!) and were given a list of things they had to take pictures off.

 

Simon was excited for a whopping two minutes before he realised he was stuck with Baz. The rest was all buddy-buddy with each other, Carol and Sam, Percy and Mervin, and Hailey and Emmett. (The last two were definitely a _thing_ , Carol had demanded that they would be invited to the wedding).

 

While his excitement didn’t return in full force, Simon was excited to hear that some kind of festival was going on in the village and that they were allowed to join the festivities. (The picture hunt was just like the scavenger hunt and the ‘Sports Day of Bonding and Realisations’, it was a way to win yourself out of chores for the next day).

 

Simon didn’t hate doing the chores, though he was quite terrible at them. Like, sometimes he wondered how he survived for that long on his own. Sheer luck, probably.

 

“You look thrilled,” Baz said, reflecting the joy that must be written on Simon’s face. A dry, deadpanned voice.

 

“I like festivals,” Simon said vaguely.

 

“But you don’t like me,” Baz supplied.

 

The words slipped past his lips before realisation caught up — he knew his brain to mouth filter was shite but this wasn’t really desirable. “I like you loads.”

 

Smooth, really smooth Snow, it was time to fetch a shovel and dig his own grave.

 

Baz blinked in surprised, caught off guard by Simon’s honesty.

 

“You do?” he asked, voice small, a little feeble.

 

“Of course I do,” Simon said, trying to keep it as casual as possible (because this wasn’t a love confession). “Though you are annoying, like, blanket-thief annoying.”

 

“Bunce would have done the same,” Baz argued.

 

It slightly frightened Simon that he wasn’t wrong. Penny probably would have done the same, adding a glare into the mix if necessary and telling him that there would be no sleep till things were talked trough. He and Baz didn’t talk it trough, but he supposed the cuddling was a decent peace offer.

 

“She would have.”

 

Simon pretty much relished in Baz’s smugness. This was familiar ground, this was the Baz that didn’t make Simon fall in love (it only made him swoon a little — by the day he started to sound more and more like a damsel in distress).

 

“Of course she would have,” Baz said. “Now, put on your walking shoes and grab your phone — I want to win this challenge.”

 

Simon knew that Baz was competitive, but he hadn’t expected him to be this passionate about a picture hunt.

 

“That desperate to win?”

 

Baz wrinkled his nose, “More like: I loathe doing chores.”

 

Simon snorted, “I don’t hate chores — I just suck at them.”

 

“I noticed,” Baz said, smiling gently — Jesus, what was going on? “You sing a lot when cleaning — Whistle While You Work?”

 

Oh dear, Baz had heard him singing? Was it even singing? He barely could hold a tune. Nonetheless, it was slightly embarrassing. He had assumed nobody could have heard him above all the ruckus they made. He liked singing, it distracted him from the work he was doing.

 

“That’s private,” Simon grumbled. “And it’s Happy Little Working Song — Enchanted?”

 

“Never heard from it before.”

 

“Uncultured swine,” Simon grumbled before he realised Baz was smiling.

 

“That’s rude, you know?” Baz drawled, exaggerating a posh accent. “I have younger siblings — I have enough Amy Adams to last me a lifetime.”

 

Simon actually struggled to remain mad, Baz’s imitation of a posh accent made him grin a little. He wanted to stay mad, or at least annoyed with Baz. Because if he cracked a smile and let himself go, he would fall a little more in love with Baz (which was a terrible plan).

 

“What?” Baz continued, drawing out the ‘a’. “You forgot that I have siblings?”

 

Honestly, Simon barely registered Baz’s question. He spends every ounce of self-control on keeping his face in check and laughter under control, but he broke.

 

Barely muffled by his hand, Simon snorted loudly and almost _cackled_. This wasn’t supposed to be funny, it really shouldn’t be, but Simon was pretty sure he was going to die of laughter.

 

They were drawing some looks, and Simon felt himself grow red, both in embarrassment and exertion, but he couldn’t stop. And when he did, eventually, the world fell quiet.

 

Baz had such a soft look on his face that it took Simon’s breath away. He was screwed. Before he knew it, he was going to do something stupid, like actually kissing Baz.

 

“But I’m serious — get your walking shoes. I won’t let you off easy.”

 

Smiling, with his heart beating a thousand miles an hour, Simon waved off Baz’s concerns and hurried over to his own cabin to fetch his walking shoes.

 

~*~

 

Their group had a system. There was a list of all the different pictures they needed — think of some everyday things like a dog, a bicycle, corn. Though you were allowed to be creative. Like, picture number 23 — which was **Star** — was handled cleverly by taking a picture of the sun. It had been Baz’s idea, who had a surprising vast knowledge concerning astronomy (well, everyone but Simon was surprised). Anyway, once someone was struck by inspiration, they send through the number of the picture, the picture and someone updated the checklist. This way it was just a matter of wandering around and finding things, instead of purposely seeking something and wasting hours upon hours.

  1. **Sheep**



 

Simon leaned on the wooden fence, staring blankly at a field filled with sheep. He and Baz had been wandering around for a while, spending the time playing ‘I Spy’. After kicking off strongly — using the sun to fulfil the **Star** was quite brilliant — they had started to lag a bit. Emmett had sent them a picture of Hailey, holding a sign that told her birthday. She was a Libra, which was symbolised by a scale. Balance. Number 42 was **Balance**. There were more, some clever, some straightforward. But at least each duo had managed to gather two pictures at the least, aside from Simon and Baz.

 

“Are we seriously just going to take a picture of sheep?” Simon asked, playing with the phone in his hands.

 

Baz shrugged. “It will fit, won’t it? We don’t have to be clever all the time. And we can always take a better picture later if an idea strikes.”

 

Simon nodded and snapped a picture of the mob, jumping as a few of them started to bleat at the same time. They were just sheep — innocent little sheep who weren’t demonic at all. (The worst campfire story _ever_ ).

 

“Sheep?” Baz asked.

 

“Yes, sheep,” Simon said. “At least it isn’t seagulls.”

 

He would never forget the beach trip they had organised for the graduation year, in which Baz’s fear for seagulls had reared it’s ugly head. Well, they were more viscous than sheep so Baz would be the one with the last laugh eventually.

 

“This conversation isn’t leaving the room,” Baz said, before realising that this was the outdoors. Simon had basically the permission to tell it to everyone outside.

 

“If you don’t tell them about the sheep—”

 

“—Then you won’t tell them about the gulls.”

 

“Deal.”

 

  1. **Lightning**



The funny thing was, Simon wasn’t the one for bookstores. Penny loved them, and by how Baz was ogling the books, Baz too. But Simon didn’t read a lot. He was more of a movie kind-of-guy, and he pretty much only read the Harry Potter series, after Penny had begged him, _and_ had gifted him the entire box set, giving him no reason to back out of it.

 

But when they passed the local bookstore, Simon had been struck with inspiration. Lightning. The rules stated clearly that the people weren’t allowed to draw the objects they needed — or at least they didn’t count as points. But taking a picture of a picture was fine, so most likely taking a picture of a book cover was fine. (Not too much. Simon doubted they would be happy with only pictures of book covers, there would be no creative points whatsoever).

 

“I have an idea,” Simon said, and he saw Baz holding back a comment.

 

Simon assumed it would be something along of the lines of ‘that’s new’, which was fair. He wasn’t the one for the brilliant ideas.

 

Entering the bookstore, Simon looked for the young adult/children section. It was a pretty small bookstore, but it was plenty. At least plenty to have a decently sized young adult/children section. Confidently, Simon walked to the shelves and looked for the familiar spines of the original UK editions of the Harry Potter series. He needed just one, and he was golden.

 

“That’s brilliant,” Baz said, taking the original UK edition of ‘Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone’ off the shelf. “His scar — it’s shaped as a lightning bolt — this will do perfectly! Lightning, right?”

 

Simon nodded and took the picture. After checking in with his group, and getting their approval, he carefully put the book back on the shelf.

 

“Didn’t know you read,” Baz admitted as they made their way back outside.

 

Simon – and Baz had agreed reluctantly – still wanted to catch the tail-end of the festivities. Maybe they could snap a few creative pictures, eats because Simon was starving, and Simon wanted to distract himself from everything that was Baz.

 

“I don’t,” Simon answered, taking an interest in the shop displays. “I just read Harry Potter because Penny threatened me — I don’t quite have the focus to read.”

 

It wasn’t a lie, he had an absolute shit attention span. Movies were generally okay, though he got distracted halfway through the first Lord of the Rings movie and missed at least half-an-hour of the film because he was scrolling through his phone.

 

“You read an eight-hundred-page long book,” Baz deadpanned. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

 

Simon wasn’t the one for conspiracy theories. Things like the faked moon landing or area 51 didn’t excite him as much as they did Penny. But he was ready to theorise what happened to the real Baz and who put the clone here. Because this wasn’t anything like the Baz he had known. Maybe he just had changed, which was entirely plausible, but it frightened Simon (perhaps he wasn’t meant for dating someone because his feelings were way too complicated).

 

  1. **Dancing**



Dancing _was_ done already, but it was unoriginal and wouldn’t score them any bonus points. Bonus points were based on originality, effort and execution. Taking a picture of a few dancers on the village square — turned out there was this medievally themed festival going on — didn’t meet any of the extra requirements.

 

Simon had agreed with his team members that it was unlikely anyone of them were actually going to participate in the dancing so they would forfeit the extra points for this one. They weren’t quite gusty enough to join the dancing, and not to mention only Percy and Mervin had stumbled upon the village square where the people twirled around, steps following the beat of the upbeat music. (At least Simon assumed it was upbeat). The village turned out to be rather vast, and there was plenty to do in the outskirts too. Especially with them tasked to take pictures of specific flowers, an acorn, some wildlife and so on.

 

But once he and Baz stumbled upon the village square, he was captivated by it. The colours were bright in the sparse sunlight, the music was upbeat, and the village square was filled with life. It reminded him a lot of the Kingdom Dance scene from Tangled.

 

He threw Baz a pleading look, not caring that it was Baz he would be roping into this.

 

“You want to dance?” Baz asked, but it was not a request by a landslide. The surprise in Baz’s voice made sure of that.

 

Feeling his excitement dwindle, Simon shrugged. “I suppose I do,” he mumbled, looking at a building behind Baz. “But it doesn’t matter, really. It’s silly.”

 

Baz looked conflicted, though Simon wasn’t sure why. It was clear he wasn’t interested in dancing. Maybe he tried to figure out a way to let Simon gently down? Or maybe think up an excuse? But still, that didn’t explain why he looked conflicted. He would have looked thoughtful, perhaps a bit trouble, but conflicted? Simon had no idea what to make of it, and it made him wish Baz would have fewer expressions gracing his face. The fewer emotions, the easier it was for Simon to just draw a blank on what Baz was thinking and feeling.

 

“Okay,” Baz said, nodding as if to add extra confirmation. “We’re going to dance.”

 

Simon felt his heart leap into his throat. “You don’t have to,” he mumbled, ignoring the warmth that had settled on his face. “Like I said, it’s silly.”

 

“You’re silly,” Baz said, sounding awfully kind. “But that’s you.”

 

Baz reached out, his fingertips ghosting over Simon’s cheek. In return, Simon felt his stomach flutter with nerves and his cheeks burning up. This was getting awfully close to kissing, Baz only had to lean down a bit—

 

Simon’s brain did short circuit.

 

_He is going to actually kiss me — he is going to kiss me. Sweet mother Mary I_ _’m going to die—_

Baz didn’t kiss him. Instead, he snatched up Simon’s hand and pulling him among the crowd of dancers.

 

“Let’s hope that you know what you’re doing,” Baz said, intertwining the fingers of one of their hands. “Because I’m clueless.”

 

Well, Simon had no idea what they _exactly_ had to do, but he would just mimic the other dances. However, his brain was a little too occupied to actually tell Baz. Like, his brain was occupied with thinking about Baz, about how close he was, how good he looked, how nice his hand felt and Jesus, the man did even smell nice. Who smelled like forest? What did forest smell like? To be honest, Baz reminded him the most of the smell of grass after rain — he got whisps of that when Baz pulled him close. He was going to die here, and there were definitely worse ways to go. (Though Penny probably would drag him out of his grave and berate him from dying over a _crush_. He was a grown-ass man, things like crushes were silly).

 

~*~

 

Simon wasn’t sure where they got the projector from, but he and the other fifty-something singles were staring at the pictures they had taken in the morning and the afternoon. Some were silly, some were clever, and others were a bit dull. Like, their group’s **Sheep** was just a flock of sheep. While another team had bought a sheet with letter stickers, found a toy boat, and stuck two e’s on it. So instead of it being a ship, it was a sheep. After some explanation, because it was a bit far-fetched (Simon first thought they were aiming for Beet, which made no sense whatsoever).

 

Team Yellow was doing rather well. The scores were already known but only revealed as they went through the different tasks at randomly. As of now, Simon’s team was third, inching close to second place. But honestly, Simon couldn’t care about winning — they were having fun, there were pizza, fish and chips without the fish, crisps and a surprisingly little amount of alcohol. Though Simon supposed that is a good thing, they had learnt from the first night. (The people weren’t any less horny, they just used their brain a bit more. Like, not bragging into someone’s room without permission).

 

“Do you think we’re going to win?” Mervin asked, eyeing the scoreboard. “Team Purple is a lot more creative than us — they probably know how to use Snapchat and Tinder.”

 

“Tinder is a dating app,” Percy pointed out, shooting Mervin a disappointed look. “Don’t depict all of us as elders — plus you wouldn’t even need Tinder.”

 

Carol let out a loud snort, and Emmett muttered ‘gay’ underneath his breath. Though he wasn’t quite trying to be subtle and Mervin grew a tad flustered, though his dark complexion hid most of the fluster.

 

“There are apps for queer people?” Mervin asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

 

Mervin had truly terrible friends. Like, even Simon had heard of Grindr, and his friends were straight. He had met more queer people here at singles camp than he did in his entire life.

 

“Percy, what did you teach this guy?” Emmett asked, throwing the blond a disappointed look. “You’re childhood best friends, you’ve been out of the closet for over a decade, it’s your duty to tell him about all the guy stuff.”

 

Percy looked a little flustered, shrinking a bit. Sam patted him good-heartedly on the back, Hailey threw Emmett a stinky eye, and Mervin looked ready to hide underneath the table. Only Carol, Baz — scrap that, Carol was trying to hold back her laughter — only Baz and Simon was barely reacting to Mervin’s predicament. Simon felt sorry for Mervin, coming out of the closet late sucked, but he didn’t have quite the guts to comfort him. Because what was there say? ‘Don’t worry about it, Grindr is mostly used for hookups and creepy guys?’ At least, that was what Simon had heard.

 

“Grindr is not worth the time,” Baz said suddenly, surprising probably everyone at the table including himself. Baz wasn’t really talkative, preferring to listen to the louder people chatting (Carol, Emmett and Percy when he wasn’t ‘you’re a terrible friend’ shamed).

 

“Grindr sounds like a gay porn app.”

 

Baz shrugged. “It basically is.”

 

Mervin sighed in relief. “Well, thank you Perce,” he patted Percy on the back. “For never forcing me to try it out.”

 

“You’re welcome?”

 

Their conversation was cut short but crappy audio ringing through the room. Videos were allowed, though more often than not they devalued the assignment instead of enhancing it. A picture of a sheep was way more preferable than a minute long video of sheep eating and bleating. But Simon supposed that with the assignment **Dancing** , a video was easier.

 

It was a video of the dancers at the village square, though they were all strangers. Team Green had opted to just record the dancers instead of taking a picture, though it didn’t earn them any bonus points. A few images of the same thing followed — everyone deciding that this would suffice just like his team had — and there were no bonus points distributed. Well, till their team’s submission came up.

 

Simon wanted to disappear on the spot. He wasn’t quite able to wipe off the horror-struck look on his face as the video was playing. This was a video of him and Baz twirling around the plaza, looking ridiculously happy. (Simon was pretty sure he was glowing). Since when was this video taken — wait, didn’t they meet up with Emmett and Hailey? And he hadn’t checked the groups chat anymore, in too much of a (hormonal) high after dancing with Baz. (God he was absolutely smitten with Baz, wasn’t he?).

 

“Who took that video?” Baz asked, voice cold and scary.

 

Emmett raised his hand, looking rightfully frightened.

 

“I should have asked, I know,” Emmett asked. “But I saw the opportunity, and well, I took it.”

 

Hailey looked scandalised. “Emmett, you told me you had asked them!”

 

“I was planning to ask but just forgot!”

 

The two started to bicker, but Simon didn’t have the heart and mood to listen to it and enjoy. He was cringing, waiting for the music to die out. How long was the video? It felt like it has been going on for hours. Though the lack of murmurs or gazes prickling the back of his neck was slightly reassuring. Didn’t they notice his gross, besotted expression?

 

One of the ladies of the Pink team — Rose if Simon recalled — tapped him on the shoulder and flashed him a bright smile.

 

“That was adorable,” she whispered, her eyes flicking to the screen. “Tangled?”

 

Simon felt his heart ease into a regular rhythm and breathing didn’t feel like he was suffocating anymore.

 

“Yeah,” Simon answered. “Tangled.”

 

Of course, people thought they were acting. They all did, some better than others, but there were plenty of awkward portrays of people holding things, mimicking things, even a woman portraying to be a plant because her name was Iris. His and Baz’s portray of dancing was maybe a bit more gusty, because public humiliation, but it wasn’t too farfetched.

 

He moved his attention to the projector screen, watching as his team took over the second position and was getting awfully close to the everlasting first place team, who now was only a handful of points ahead of them.

 

Not paying attention, he completely missed Baz’s grateful smile aimed at Rose, who winked in return and mouthed a ‘you’re welcome’.

 

~*~

 

For once, Simon was actually spending the night with his roommate. Not in a sexual way, because his roommate was painfully straight and Simon had fallen too deep in the rabbit hole that was Baz. One day, Simon would do something stupid, for example, kiss Baz straight on the mount, having no excuses but admitting he was besotted with him.

 

Lying in bed, feeling discomfort for unknown reasons, Simon wondered where the sudden acceptance towards his feelings for Baz came from. Yes, Baz was attractive on a physical level, and it was something Simon had accepted quite quickly. It was ridiculous to worry himself over thinking someone was attractive. Only the emotional level of interest was neither planned or expected. The little smiles, the conversations they had, the well-meant teasing, the fun-times, the emotional connection, the fact they actually knew each other better than expected. Simon’s abandonment issue, Baz’s struggle to open-up, to express his feelings. These were things either of them shared easily.

 

Simon supposed that these things always have been there. It was just that as teens, they weren’t ready to act like this around one-another. Both were in the middle of their puberty, the school had been a poor setting for both of them to be. Simon never had fit in, as an orphan, and Baz’s mother used to be headmistress till the car-accident. The new headmaster was the reason Simon could attend in the first place, but that didn’t make things better. It hadn’t been their time, though Simon doubted this would be their time either. After all, a week wouldn’t be sufficient enough to rebuild a relationship that never was there, and anything romantic was a definite no-go. (Because in what universe would Baz — gorgeous, smart and witty Baz — go for plain old Simon)?

 

Hearing his phone buzz softly from underneath his pillow, Simon happily took on the distraction. Digging up his phone, Simon checked the message, surprised to see Baz’s name flash on his home screen. Yes, they had exchanged numbers, but Simon had doubted it that Baz would ever use his.

 

 **Baz [00:12]** Got exiled. Can I sleep at your place?

**Simon [00:12] *** sexiled

 

It was silly, but Simon _had_ to cover that first. Being exiled was like being accidentally (or purposely) being locked out. Sexiled was being locked out because your housemate was having sex and as a sensible person, you don’t want to witness it.

 

 **Baz [00:14]** Will you ever let that rest?

 

 **Simon [00:14]** no

 

Simon could imagine Baz rolling his eyes.

 

 **Baz [00:15]** But can I crash your place?

 

He was conflicted. It was cruel to let Baz sleep outside, because it was, cold, and he couldn’t help that he was being sexiled by his roommate. But he didn’t have a spare bed, which meant he had to share one with Baz, again.

 

Though, was sharing a bed that bad? Simon was used to sleeping in a room with multiple people. In the orphanage, during high school, in college, after college. Simon had only lived on his own for a few years, and there was always something missed. His apartment was home, but a bit cold, and lonely.

 

So maybe it wasn’t too bad to share a bed with Baz, even in a platonic fashion. After all, Simon liked to cuddle, and Baz didn’t seem to mind.

 

 **Simon [00:21]** yes but there is 1 bed did you bring pillow blanket

 

Considering Baz’s proper punctuation in his texting, he was probably cringing at Simon’s excellent usage of words. 

 

 **Baz [00:23]** You shouldn’t be allowed to text ever again. But yes, I have my blanket and pillow with me. Will be there in a minute.

 

Baz was a saint, Simon had an undying love for blanket piles. Though he was surprised with himself, for figuring out how Baz was thinking. Maybe because they had spent so many hours together during high school, or perhaps they had it hit off well once they rekindled their acquaintanceship.

 

Hearing a quiet knock on the door, Simon reluctantly got himself out of bed and ignoring his roommate’s confused mumbles.

 

Opening the door, Simon got an armful of fabrics shoved against his chest, which he latched onto in a hurry. Blankets were valuable, Simon loved them, and the floor wasn’t extremely clean (not even taking into account all the bodily fluids that the floor must have suffered from). Though seeing Baz against wasn’t bad either, though seeing him smiling that little, adoring smile, was a bit odd.

 

“Are you kidding? Can’t you fuck somewhere else?” his roommate mumbled,

 

“We aren’t going to fuck,” Simon mumbled, feeling himself grow flustered a little.

 

He and Baz fucking seemed so weird, but he couldn’t get himself to dislike the idea. Well, fucking sounded a bit crude, he would instead think about making love. Sharing kisses, intimacy, whispered words and promises made for the unforeseen future.

 

“But if you’re interested,” Baz offered Simon’s roommate an aloof, distant tone and a half-hearted smirk. Simon knew that expression, it was annoyance covered up as confidence.

 

“No,” Simon’s roommate spluttered. “Don’t swing that way.”

 

Baz clicked his tongue in faked disappointment. “Pity.”

 

Before Simon’s roommate could answer, Baz decided that the conversation was over. Baz pulled Simon to the bed and pushed him down into a sitting position.

 

“Get in bed, I’m tired,” Baz said as he started to strip.

 

Flustered, not wanting to see Baz semi-naked, Simon slipped into bed, moved himself to the wall and tucked his pillow underneath his head.

 

A minute or so later, another blanket was dropped on top of his and Baz crept into the bad like some dirty secret — as if they weren’t supposed to share a bed.

 

Simon almost asked if Baz wanted to cuddle, it would make them utilise the space of the bed better. But he didn’t want to push their boundaries. He didn’t want Baz to know, to know about his feelings, about his desires (and not just sexual desires).

 

“Come here,” Baz mumbled, wrapping an arm around Simon’s side.

 

Ignoring the happiness filled his heart — he wasn't supposed to be this happy about something as insignificant as this — Simon crawled close to Baz, tucking his hand underneath Baz’s head. This seemed to be the right move because Baz snuggled into his hair and let out a contented sigh.

 

“You like cuddling, don’t you?”

 

“Maybe,” Simon mumbled.

 

“Maybe?”

 

“Okay, _yes_ , I love cuddling.”

 

“Figures,” Baz mumbled as if he was actually expecting it. Knowing Baz, he probably did. He probably had Simon all figured out and one day, it was going to bite him in the butt.


	4. Thursday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is longer than necessary, probably. But eh, enjoy my crap

Simon knew that platonic spooning with the guy you were falling for faster than a comet wasn’t smart. It would only make said feelings worse. But on the other hand, it has been aged he had spooned with someone. Okay, that was a lie, he platonically spooned with people.  However, Baz was the most unconventional person to spoon with, because Simon actually _liked_ him. Nonetheless, unlike the previous morning, Simon woke up and decided that he was too tired, too comfortable and too warm to pretend to hate cuddling with Baz.

 

Now it was just a matter of hoping Baz wouldn’t notice that he was awake. Well, awake and just contently snuggling closer to Baz’s chest. If Simon had attempted to free himself from Baz’s grip, it probably wouldn’t look suspicious. At least it wouldn’t look like Simon was actually enjoying himself (which he was).

 

Penny would have a field day if he ever told her everything that was going on at camp. From him actually socialising to basically kiss and make up with his ex-rival and sudden new love of his life. The latter was a bit exaggerated, but if the camp had been any longer than a week, Simon’s heart might betray him.

 

“Enjoying yourself?”

 

Simon would deny the fact he squeaked till his dying day, but there was definitely a terrified, high-pitched noise coming from his lips.

 

Feeling his heart race a thousand miles an hour — if not more — Simon untangled himself from Baz’s grasp and met his gaze.

 

Baz was smirking, looking awfully smug with himself. At least, he tried. His bedroom look didn’t particularly help. His hair was a mess, eyes slightly droopy and lines were running across the side of his face he slept on. He looked… normal. It was a silly way to describe someone, but to Simon, Baz seemed awfully normal. Not this ethereal being that stood above anyone else, who was better than anyone else.  It was that he could recognise the grey-blue eyes from everywhere. Otherwise, this might as well be a completely different person.

 

“Maybe?” Simon mumbled, willing himself not too flush to bright. The shriek was embarrassing enough. “You have an awful bed head, you know?”

 

To his surprise, Baz touched his hair almost self-consciously. It was just hair, it looked good on Baz, but it never stood out as much as his rich brown skin or grey eyes, and when drawn at full height, his length. Baz was ridiculously tall, it was unfair.

 

While Simon did a marvellous job in spacing out, Baz had attempted to fix his hair. But he had done a poor job. Instead of looking more presentable, his hair tried to defy gravity. If only he had curls, it would have looked hilarious.

 

“Your hair has started its own life,” Simon snickered, watching with joy to see Baz’s eyes grow wide.

 

“It’s the air,” Baz muttered. “Its moist in the cabin.”

 

Simon snorted, wiggling his arm free and run his own hand through his curls. By the feel of it, they were an absolute mess. They didn’t appreciate the heavy moisture of the cabin either.

 

“If it is any consolation, my hair doesn’t appreciate humid conditions either.”

 

Was this considered flirting? Simon wasn’t so sure. His flirting left a lot to be desired, so accidental flirting usually went better than deliberate flirting.

 

Baz made a nonsensical noise, which Simon would _almost_ label as a whine. _Almost._ Because Baz didn’t whine.

 

“Your curls look fine,” Baz mumbled, before correcting himself. “Though with how they usually look, it isn’t hard to improve upon.”

 

Was Baz now flirting with him? That seemed to be almost too good to be true. It most likely was untrue. Probably Baz was just trying to be kind for once? After all, it was a bit awkward to try to tear each other apart when you had to share a room (though this time it was voluntary).

 

Then, Simon’s brain betrayed him.

 

 _What if you just kiss him,_ his brain suggested in a voice that sounded an awful lot like Penny. _What could go wrong_?

 

A lot. Many things could go wrong. He wasn’t even sure about his feelings towards Baz. There was just something _there_. It might as well be lust, after all, Baz was gorgeous. There were plenty of people who would want to tap that, Simon included.

 

And, even if it worked out and Baz kissed back — unlikely but not impossible — what next? He didn’t know where Baz lived. If he even lived in London or close-by. Simon doubted he would do well with the long-distant relationship, not even taking into account his might-be-there abandonment. Also, would Baz even want a relationship? Maybe a one-night stand? Maybe Simon could be his play-thing for the rest of the camp?

 

The last thought sends a shudder down his body, and it felt like someone had poured acid his stomach. Groaning, he tried to pull the blanket closer, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to bury away all his worries.

 

He had, admittedly, forgotten about Baz. It was an odd thing to forget, considering they were sharing a single bed, but Simon had managed. This wasn’t helping his feelings concerning Baz the slightest as Baz had picked up the shift in mood. And he had to be worried about it.

 

A gentle touch to his elbow caused him to flinch, eyes widening to meet Baz’s worried gaze.

 

“You’re okay?” Baz asked gentle, eyebrow knitting together.

 

Smiling weakly, Simon nodded. “Just overthinking,” he answered truthfully.

 

It wasn’t the entire truth, but Simon supposed that Baz had no reason or right to know about Simon’s worries. They were friends at best, and that Baz had participated in a few of his foolish actions was way more than he had ever expected. The stargazing, the game of truth-or-dare Simon had suggested just for fun, the dancing from yesterday. Baz must have been mortified to realise that it had been recorded.

 

“You overthink?” Baz asked, and Simon realised with a start he was actually teasing. “I didn’t know you could think for yourself.”

 

Simon gave him a half-hearted shove. “I finished college. There must be something up there.”

 

“You’re actually pretty brilliant,” Baz mumbled. “Not in a Bunce-kind-of-way, I think that you would keel over in no time, but you’re creative, stubborn and ruthless when you have set your mind on things.”

 

_What?_

 

Simon was pretty sure his face held a deep red colour, the shock was written across his face. Since when was Baz kind? This kind? If he genuinely didn’t know better, if he might actually have some hope, Baz was flirting with him.

 

“You’re okay?”

 

Simon’s brain probably had short-circuited, because he wanted to ask nothing else but if Baz was actually flirting with him. Then the idea of kissing Baz had resurfaced once again. He really, really would want to kiss Baz. It probably would be nice for the few seconds it lasted before Baz either kicked him out of bed or it would lead into a one-night stand.

 

“I — I want to—”

 

What did he want? For Baz to back off? To kiss Baz? To spill out his heart? This would be a good opportunity. The opportunity would never be perfect, but there were only two nights left, and after that, they would pack and get on the bus. Maybe tomorrow would be a better moment to try or the day after? Perhaps the best moment to admit his desire to kiss Baz was once they had returned to London when he was seconds away from jumping in a cab and go home. Just, like, shout it to the man and run like a coward.

 

That idea was an absolute disaster.

 

In the end, Simon ended up mentally waxing cliché poetry about how wonderful his roommate was, who entered the cabin and made the conversation short-lived. They weren’t going to discucss feeling when a stranger – almost stranger – was present.

 

“You know that breakfast is in ten?” the guy asked, towelling his damp curls. He must have showered.

 

He felt Baz grow stiff beside him, and Simon felt his own heart skip a few beats. It was breakfast in ten. There was no way in hell that he would get out of bed, shower, and get dressed in ten minutes. The ‘get out of bed’ part alone would take a solid five minutes, if not more. He had to go trough his phone, aimlessly scrolled through Twitter, reply Penny’s messages and watch a video or two. His morning wouldn’t be complete without that. And then he had to fit in showering, getting dressed — finding clean clothes because he had the feeling he really had under packed — and run to the dining hall as if his life (stomach) depended on it.

 

Fuck it, he hadn’t even touched his food stash since he got off the bus. He would survive missing one breakfast.

 

“I’m going back to sleep,” Simon said definitely, wrapping the half-tossed off blanket snugly around himself and nuzzle his pillow.

 

Baz prodded him.

 

Reluctantly, Simon cracked an eye open. He was going to treasure the extra hour of sleep, the long shower and the opportunity to actually spend more than five minutes using his phone. Baz wasn’t going to stop him.

 

“Move, I can’t get out,” Baz whispered, looking slightly frantic.

 

“No.”

 

“But breakfast.”

 

Simon sighed. He didn’t want to deal with Baz trying to get out of bed, which would mean many bruises, no doubt. Not to mention that with Baz’s cabin being on the other side of the ground, and the showers were next door. Baz probably had to dig through Simon’s stuff to find at least his shampoo, and maybe some spare clothes. He had to think of a compromise, with keeping Baz in his bed as the primary goal (that sounded wrong, really, really wrong).

 

“I have food,” Simon said. “It will suffice as breakfast.”

 

Baz sighed in annoyance, though he didn’t look the part.

 

“Fine,” Baz grumbled. “Let’s return to sleep.”

 

Before Simon had any saying in the sleep arrangements — he barely heard the door close after his actual roommate — Baz latched onto him like an octopus and went to sleep.

 

Baz was a god damn bastard. He cruelly pointing out that Simon was the one who liked cuddling. But he probably loved it as much, considering how quickly he had tangled his limbs with Simon’s, and how quickly he had fallen asleep once again.

 

Making the best of the situation  (which wasn’t all that bad), Simon made himself comfortable in Baz’s grip and dozed off, hoping to catch another hour of shut-eye before stuffing himself with unhealthy snacks that would serve as breakfast.

 

~*~

Breakfast was an exciting affair. It brought Simon back to college, when he occasionally sat somewhere in his shared apartment stuffing himself with either a burnt piece of toast or cheap noodle which nowadays made him nauseous. Only the food was better, and so was the company. He liked Penny’s company, but once she started to date Micah, her presence in the apartment had become scarcer. Plus she disapproved of his eating habits. For whatever miraculous reason, Baz didn’t.

 

They had tossed the blankets on Simon’s roommate his bed and spreading one of Simon’s unnecessarily oversized towel over the white — okay it was more grey due to age — fitted sheet. It created an illusion of having a picnic. If a picnic took place in a bedroom and the food was probably the content of half a candy store. Simon might have gone overboard on stocking up on sweets.

 

“I really hope that this isn’t your usual breakfast,” Baz had criticised, though not before stuffing his third Double Decker into his mouth.

 

Simon had ignored Baz’s comment and just popped the next Malteser in his mouth. He had missed having an entirely unhealthy and inappropriate breakfast.

 

Their fun had been spoilt by Carol, who had been sent to fetch them. Simon had bribed her with Kit-Kat to buy them some extra time. He probably had enough food to bribe at least his entire group. Maybe they could make today a rest day?

 

It turned out that Simon had gotten his wish. Once they had wrapped up breakfast, like, almost on the dot, it started to pour. Rain was pattering on the roof-top and against the window, creating more noise than what was welcome.

 

“We’re staying inside today,” one of the staff members had announced as if that wasn’t obvious.

 

Most campers stared outside with a mixture of despair and longing.  Simon wondered how many people were thinking of kissing in the rain — or doing kinkier stuff in the rain. He admired the general sex-drive of these people and their creativity. Simon couldn’t imagine sleeping with someone outside of a bed. The wall sounded sexy, but in real life, it probably hurt like a banshee.

 

“But to make things interesting, we’ve created some bonding activities,” the staff member continued to prattle, sounding awfully delighted to push another form of torture on them. “We’re going to play games — starting out with _The Voting Game._ Everyone go to your team-table and listen to the rules — cheating isn’t allowed!”

 

Simon had never heard of the game before, but it vaguely reminded him a video game he played once upon a time — but he was most likely drunk because their good old Wii was only touched when the alcohol was flowing.

 

The rules were simple:

 

  * Each person had their own number up to
  * Everyone would get all the number cards.
  * There was a ‘most likely to’ card that was drawn each round.
  * Each person had to put down the number of the person who seemed to fit the bill the best.
  * Bicker about the results
  * Start the next round.



 

It was pretty straightforward, though Simon was a tad nervous for the questions. He hoped that there wasn’t anything raunchy or highly uncomfortable. He hoped they didn’t get a too bad impression of him.

 

“Dibs on seven,” Emmett announced, claiming the lucky number for himself.

 

The rest of the group didn’t call dibs on a certain number — it was hard to believe that only Sam was older than Emmett. He wasn’t even the baby of the group. Carol was, being twenty-eight.

 

Nervously placing number two in front of him, Simon watched the ‘most likely to’ cards to be distributed among the players. He hoped that he knew these people good enough to avoid being the butt of a joke.

 

Picking up his five ‘most likely to’ cards, Simon couldn’t withhold a snort. Some were very, very obvious. ‘ _Who drops someone in a trust fall on purpose?_ ’

Emmett. No doubt. Maybe Baz, but he would vote for Emmett without a doubt.

 

Gentle nudging Baz who sat next to him, Simon showed him the card and added a raised eyebrow.

 

Baz frowned at the card before smirking, make a subtle head gesture towards Emmett.

 

Simon beamed and nodded in agreement. So they either knew their friends poorly, or they both knew them well enough. It was also possible they were good at winging it — but winging it was also a part of the game. It was partially luck, after all.

 

“Don’t discuss things ahead,” Carol said, throwing Simon and Baz an accusing glare. “No matter how well you polished the skill on non-verbal communication — it’s an unfair advantage.”

 

Baz smirked, his posture reminding Simon of a very content cat. “And Mervin and Percy don’t have an advantage?”

 

“An advantage we can’t do anything about,” Carol said, though she looked a little hesitant.

 

Like, she _knew_ that it was a bit unfair, but they couldn’t do anything about it. They couldn’t change the fact that the two have shared each other’s lives for over a quarter of a decade. It was pretty impressive though, he always thought he and Penny knew each other for a long time.

 

“Should we get started?” Percy asked, not even phased by the accusation. “Unless we want the staff to keep on glaring at us.”

 

There were mumbled agreements, and Carol, being the youngest, started with the first ‘who is most likely to’.

 

“Who would you choose as your cellmate in prison?” Carol asked, looking genuinely delighted with the questions she got.

 

God, who would Simon pick? Well, definitely not Emmett, and Mervin probably wouldn’t survive a day in prison (Simon wouldn’t either, but he doubted that teaming up with the other ‘wimp’ would help).

 

“Do genders count?” Simon asked, realising that usually, cellmates were the same gender. Pairing up a female and male wasn’t quite the brightest idea. Unless they wanted to support reproduction.

 

“I suppose,” Carol answered unsurely. “I mean, we’re assuming it must be realistic, so yeah, only boys or only girls — sorry Sam.”

 

Sam shrugged, tugging one of her curls.

 

Well, this left Simon with either Baz or Percy — assuming that Sam would be placed in a female-only prison. While Percy was kind and pretty smart, he probably would have no leverage whatsoever, from his short posture, reddish-blond curls to his freckles. He didn’t look dangerous. Baz, on the other hand, probably could make people piss their pants. Simon would, if Baz would come to him, his biggest glare in place and Simon would have never met him. Because now Baz didn’t look scary, even if he tried.

 

Putting down Baz’s number, Carol gathered them all and inspected them.

 

“Well… I’m not surprised, slightly stumped, but not surprised. Though Mervin, yours is fairly obvious.”

 

Mervin looked a little startled as Carol laid down the answers.

 

When it came down to the men, everyone picked Baz expected one. They had picked Percy. Ah, that probably was Mervin’s choice. The women had put all their money on Hailey. Simon understood why. Hailey had a background in material arts. She never had gone down the professional route, but she started from a young age and never stopped. She probably could knock someone out before they had the opportunity to even _blink_.

 

“Why did you pick me?” Percy asked, looking a little flustered.

 

Mervin shrugged helplessly. “Because you’re my best friend?”

 

“But not your best chance at survival — Baz could look the part of a criminal, I never will.”

 

Simon had to argue with that. Add some tattoos, go bald, learn how to glare, stop saying ‘pardon’ or ‘excuse me’ and Percy was halfway there.

 

“Oh,” Mervin said. “Didn’t think about it like that, in that case, I would have picked Baz too.”

 

To his surprise, Baz was a little flustered with the attention. He had picked himself, which on a practical standpoint was quite brilliant. Sharing a cell with yourself was a lot better than getting a horrible roommate. Simon just supposed that either nobody else thought about it, or felt themselves safer with the two most dangerous people at the table.

 

Well, Baz looked dangerous, Hailey _was_ dangerous.

 

“I’m next,” Sam announced.

 

Everyone retrieved their numbers and Sam tossed her ‘who is most likely’ card on the table.

 

Oh, this one was good.

 

_Who has vomited in the most awkward place?_

Simon knew it wasn’t him. He doubted a dumpster was the most awkward place, or in the bathroom of his back-then shared apartment with Penny. Looking around the circle, he saw mixed reactions. Sam looked confused — so she was an unlikely option. Baz seemed to be too posh to vomit somewhere embarrassing. Carol maybe? Hailey? Emmett would be good too. However, he had the feeling Emmett didn’t have _the_ vomit story. And then he caught Percy’s expression.

 

Though muted, his face was lined with pure and utter delight. Not a look of someone with a horror. But the look of someone who _knew_ a horror story.  It must be Mervin.

 

Relieved, Simon placed Mervin’s number on the table. He was the second one to make their decision, only Percy had preceded him.

 

The rest followed more slowly, most of them looking constipated.

 

“Who do you have?” Baz hissed, nudging Simon not so gently.

 

Making sure nobody noticed him, Simon leaned close to Baz and offered him a hint, “Look at Percy’s face.”

 

Baz hadn’t expected the answer and looked pretty confused, but he did check out Percy’s toned-down expression. Seconds later, he tossed his own number on the table.

 

Mervin had a terrible best friend, and Percy should never be allowed to play poker.

 

“Is everyone done?” Sam asked.

 

People looked nervous, and even Sam herself hadn’t thrown down her own number. But muttered ‘almost’ followed and the rest of the numbers were laid down before being gathered by Sam.

 

“We don’t quite agree,” Sam said softly, placing the numbers on the table with the text up.

 

Four had guessed Mervin, then there was Percy, Emmett, Hailey and Simon.

 

Simon snorted as he saw his pop up among the candidates.

 

“My worst was throwing up in a dumpster behind a bar,” Simon admitted, grinning sheepishly.

 

“That’s indeed not bad,” Carol grumbled. “Taxi.”

 

“Toilet in the subway,” Emmett piped in.

 

“Bag with groceries,” Percy said, which was the worst up until now.

 

“Flowerpot,” Hailey said. “Thankfully it was a fake plant.”

 

“Dumpster,” Baz said, which made Simon grin. He wasn’t the only one who couldn’t quite hold his alcohol, hence the dumpster.

 

“Don’t drink,” Sam said. “And when I’m sick, it’s just the bucket or toilet.”

 

This left only Mervin, who looked mortified.

 

“Who guessed me?” Mervin asked.

 

Mervin himself raised his hand, it must be bad if he had so much self-confidence that his story was the worst, and so did Percy, Baz and Simon.

 

“How did you guess?” Mervin asked. “I never told you, did I?”

 

Simon shook his head. “Percy’s face gave it away.”

 

“Damn it Perce!”

 

“Please tell, what can be worse than groceries or a taxi?”

 

“Wedding,” Mervin mumbled. “I ended up vomiting over Perce’s sister’s dress — wedding dress.”

 

Definitely the worst one of all. Simon had steered away from the alcohol at Penny’s wedding, knowing that wasn’t the best in holding is liquor. The last thing he had wanted was to ruin Penny’s party.

 

“That’s awful,” Carol said.

 

“Did she ever forgive you?” Hailey asked. “I mean, wedding dresses are expensive.”

 

“She loves him more than she loves me,” Percy mumbled. “She would have switched the two of us if we weren’t a package deal.”

 

They played several more rounds, Simon would be the one who would lose a fight with an elderly person, Emmett was born and bred to be the first in line for Hell. (he was the real sinner among them, apparently). Baz had the most nocturnal tendencies, and Carol had married her snooze-button. The next ‘who most likely would’ however, was a tad more interesting.

 

_Who would win the Hunger Games?_

Their picks were mixed. Simon had picked Hailey because she had experience in hand-to-hand combat, unlike the rest of them. A few others had thought the same and had chosen Hailey too. But there was Simon’s name, Emmett’s name twice and Sam’s name once.

 

Who in their bloody mind would think that Simon would win the Hunger Games? He most likely would be the first one to die. No, that’s a lie, because he’s a coward and he would have fled. He wouldn’t have died in the beginning. He, however, most likely would die of starvation. He had gotten used to eating his fair share of food. Enough that it started to get a little noticeable.

 

Hailey seemed the best candidate, and the arguments for both Sam and Emmett were passable at best. However, nobody bothered to argue for Simon’s sake. Maybe it had been a mistake? Simon would have suspected that.

 

“Nobody wants to defend Simon?” Percy asked.

 

Nobody answered, which was a relief. He was worried that someone actually dared to believe he would survive The Hunger Games. He would die unless he could co-team with Penny, maybe Baz, and someone who could actually fight.

Simon offered Baz a lopsided grin, shrugging half-heartedly. But instead of returning a shrug, Baz looked a tad uncomfortable, a blush set on his cheekbones.

 

Maybe Baz had accidentally picked Simon? It was plausible, though he doubted that Baz would have that much faith in him.

 

“We’re wrapping up ladies and gentlemen!” a staff-member announced, rending the room silence. “Help deck the tables for lunch. The weather seems to unexpectedly clear up, so we’re going to do our outside-activities after all. That’s all!”

 

People started to gather the cards, and Simon awkwardly picked up his own numbwe. Why had Baz tossed down his name? It was a silly thing to ponder over — it was just a game — but Baz wasn’t stupid. He would actually use his brain and figure out the most logical answer, which would be Hailey. He wouldn’t accidentally pick his number, especially as they didn’t even look alike.

 

He wanted to remark on it, ask Baz about it, but he couldn’t find the nerve. There was no privacy right now, and he refused to even dare to bare his feelings, risking them to be laid out in the open for everyone to see.

 

~*~

Simon felt as if he had been run over by a bulldozer, or wrecked by a wrecking ball. Pick your poison. He was barely thirty, he was decently fit, but his body apparently hadn’t been prepared for this.

 

“I can feel my muscles melting away,” Mervin moaned, nearly planting face-first into dinner as he laid his head to rest on his arms. “Is it possible that too much exercising can leave you with no muscles?”

 

“Doubt it,” Emmett muttered, playing around with his own dinner and groaning in exhaustion.

 

Percy started to mildly scold Mervin, that he shouldn’t act like he was the same age as his grandmother. The wheelchair comment had gotten him to shut up pretty quickly. Simon relished in the silence.

 

The staff had decided that today’s planning was torture. Like, Simon wished he was kidding, but it really felt like torture. First, there was a five-kilometre walk — pretty doable. If you followed the instructions correctly, you would find a couple of rafts moored to a small dock, the rest was stacked up next to the small stream. There were two people per raft allowed — otherwise, the fit wouldn’t work, nor would the weight hold. Well, if they stacked three Carol’s on it would have worked. Carol is both light and short.

 

Nonetheless, as you tried to keep yourself dry — because the water was ice cold, why did they had to do this in the autumn? — you slowly floated down the stream. Along the way, it was up to you to pick up duckies. They were rubber ducks in all kind of colours placed on the shore— each team had its own colour — and it was up to you to snatch them up from the shore, stuff them in your borrowed bag and try to remain dry.

 

It seemed easy, but there was only one peddle per raft, and nine out of ten campers were inexperienced rafters. Simon ended up soaking wet. The good thing was that Baz too was soaking wet. Turned out that neither of them was quite fit for travelling on a raft. Well, Simon supposed that his far-fetched dreams to become a pirate were thrown out of the window. Or, to fit in with the theme, flushed down the drain.

 

The worst part had been when they arrived at their end station. They were soaking wet, sore and struggling to keep the floating duckies together — they were valuable apparently? It wasn’t even over. No, you had to make a tree-house but not in the trees? So you had to make a tiny house? Never mind, you had to make a small, wooden house, and you needed the rubber duckies to buy yourself the right materials. Taking other duckies as hostages had no use because these were automatically counted for the matching team. (The staff had learnt from the scavenger hunt).

 

The issue was that Simon’s team barely had enough to come by. They were actually saved by the green group, who had decided to employ the hostage strategy. With the yellow-coloured duckies they handed in, Simon’s team could finally buy the roof for the house. (They belatedly had realised they still needed a roof after they had purchased the unnecessary stuff, like paint and pretty things for decoration).

 

Team blue had one, which meant they weren’t even excused for chores.

 

But all in all, this had taken up the entire afternoon, and a part of the evening. Once the campers had fallen into their seats in the dining hall, the exhaustion had started to show. People were worn out, barely managing to keep their focus for _dinner_. It was food. Edible stuff they have been denied for hours. Several people had already changed into pyjamas. Due to the fact many of them had made a tumble into the small river, many people had forgone their wet clothes for a hot shower and comfortable clothes. A few phones had met their ends, even after the warning from the staff. But there were always people trying to defy the odds, and there were still people who paid that price.

 

Long story short, almost everyone was tired, sore and ready to tuck in early, even if that meant bedtime was around nine. Their elderly years were creeping up on them. Simon was no exception to the exhaustion.

 

His phone hadn’t met its end, he had been smart enough to leave it behind like several others had done. But the hot shower, comfortable clothes and steadily filled stomach was a recipe for drowsiness. Simon knew that he could flop down on the mattress and just fall asleep.

 

It sounded delightful, but Simon decided that he had other things to attend to beforehand.

 

Due to the fact the afternoon activity ended way later than anticipated, the evening plans were scrapped. So it was ‘free-for-all’ the rest of the evening. Simon assumed most people would tuck in early. He, however, decided that he had to discuss things with Baz.  Otherwise he would chicken out and do a ‘lol nope, my feelings aren’t relevant’and ruin all the chances he had.

 

Finishing his plate, Simon tapped on Baz’s shoulder.

 

Baz looked almost relieved to be distracted from his dinner, which he had spend more time playing with than actually eating it. It wasn’t as bad as Mervin and Emmett, but the appetite seemed to be lacking.

 

“Do you want to go early?” he asked, and Baz nodded happily, leaving his mostly-filled plate with dinner behind without a second thought.

 

It was pretty chilly outside, which was to be expected from a Scottish autumn, but it thankfully remained dry. Simon would have called out karma if it had stared to rain.

 

“Any reason to leave early?” Baz asked, teasing Simon a little. “Couldn’t handle seeing Mervin play with his food and not something else.”

 

Instead of growing flustered, Simon just shuddered. Mervin was great, really, but Simon couldn’t imagine dating him, at all. Life would be too… dull. It seemed that he was attracted to people with wild personalities. Quietness didn’t seem to fit him. (Wild might not be the right term, as Baz definitely wasn’t wild.) But he was _there_. It was almost impossible not to see Baz, gaze up at him and bathe in his excistence. (Okay, that might be just Simon).

 

“I think Percy cared more than I did,” Simon answered curtly, feeling nerves creepy up his throat. It felt like a wad of cotton was stuck there. He could still breathe, swallow, _live_ , but it was significantly harder.

 

“I want to talk,” Simon forced out.

 

Baz looked amused by Simon’s confession. Veering off path, Baz beckoned him to follow, leaning him towards the randomly placed rocks that served as seats.

 

“They’re wet,” Baz said with hesitation, probably wondering whenever it was worth getting his bum wet.

 

Not particularly caring himself, Simon sat down and petted the damp spot next to him. He would rather not be face-to-face during this conversation.

 

Baz gave in and sat down next to Simon, looking like he was genuinely in pain and not just suffering from a damp arse. What a drama queen.

 

“What do you want to talk about?” Baz asked.

 

It was stupid, it was silly. It was just a mistake. Simon shouldn’t be thinking about it. After all, Baz hadn’t meant to pick his number during the Hunger Games question. Because logically, Simon would never survive the Hunger Games. He wouldn’t come from a wealthy district, he wouldn’t have much fighting training. He would be mercilessly beaten to death before he could even lay a finger on someone. (Re-watching the Hunger Games had been a mistake).

 

“Why did you think I would survive the Hunger Games?” Simon asked calmly before feeling himself grow flustered. It was such a stupid question. “Not that it’s important, I just wondered. It probably was a mistake, most likely. You’re brilliant, you know me better than the rest. You would know that I wouldn’t survive a day out there. It’s just… I looked too deep into this — I’m sorry.”

 

Baz looked a bit like he was struggling to breathe as if his nerves were lodged deep down his throat. (Simon was surprisingly familiar with that feeling). Maybe there was actually something there and not just a mistake because if that had been the case, Baz easily could have brushed it off.

 

“Don’t be,” Baz muttered, moving a little further away from Simon. “Sorry, I mean. Don’t be sorry.  I was a bit over-thinking myself when putting down your name.”

 

Despite feeling jittery, and slightly worried, Simon couldn’t help but snort, “How bad must you over-think to make me the most likely candidate to win?”

 

“Depends on the person,” Baz said vaguely, shifting uncomfortably. He looked ready to bolt.

 

“Bribery?” Simon teased.

 

Baz shook his head, looking a bit grey in the face. Was he going to hurl? He looked like what Simon felt after too much beer.

 

Was he nervous? Why?

 

Simon’s blood runs cold. Maybe this was a bet. Perhaps someone had dared Baz to flirt (was it flirting?) with Simon and then break his heart, and now Baz started to feel sorry? If Simon were lucky, Baz would apologise and mention that he thinks Simon is at least a nice guy and didn’t deserve it. It will suck, but it wouldn’t be as bad as being brutally rejected.

 

While it was a possibility — one Simon didn’t want to think about —  something didn’t fit in the picture. Simon hadn’t confess his feelings. They were vaguely implied, yes, but if Baz had been bribed or someone had bet him that he could break Simon’s heart, Simon at first had to give him his heart (vocally, he was pretty sure he was in too deep by now to go back).

 

“I suck at dating,” Baz started, startling Simon a bit. He hadn’t expected the conversation to head in this direction. “At feelings, honestly.”

 

Simon looked at Baz in disbelief. Baz, bad with feelings? He could have any girl back in high school and without a doubt, college—

 

 _Girls_. Oh, that made a lot of sense. If there was nothing at stake, it was so much easier to be smooth with someone, to be charming. Simon never had any issues with being himself around Penny, because he never had any romantic feelings for her. She was more like his sister than anything else. But around the people he liked, the ones he tried to impress, it was always a bit awkward. What was the limit? Where laid the boundaries? Was talking about whatever d-classed movie Simon had seen appropriate or off-putting?

 

“You were always smooth with the girls,” Simon pointed out as if Baz didn’t know this himself. “Couldn’t you just replicate that with the guys you wanted to impress?”

 

Baz snorted, looking a bit more at ease. “I tried, didn’t quite work out. Most guys thought I was actively stealing their girlfriend while I was trying to do the opposite.”

 

Simon had the feeling he should use this piece of information — the voice in the back of his head that sounded like Penny nagged about it — but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what to do with it. So he let it go in favour of asking a more sensible question — or at least one that would quench his thirst for a better explanation.

 

“What has your bad flirting to do with your poor decision making — at least concerning—”

 

 _Me_.

 

Baz just had admitted that he somewhat struggled with flirting with the guys he was interested in. Women were fine, but it was a bit hard to find joy in flirting with the gender you had no interest in. This could mean, if putting two and two together, Baz was flirting with him?

 

It would be great, wonderful, every word that had a positive meaning, but that would also mean Baz was a fantastic actor. Because Baz had been mostly smooth with him. Simon had been the one who was busy being awkward, failing miserably at flirting (not that it was any new). The only display of Baz’s awkwardness was this morning. The only reason it still had stuck with him was that he had a moment of hope that it _meant_ something more. Plus it was hilarious to think that Baz would think he would survive the Hunger Games. He would probably die in the woods by accidentally killing himself.

 

“So you accidentally flirted with me?”

 

Okay, time to step into a time machine and go, like, one minute back in time. This definitely wasn’t what Simon wanted to ask or say. He wanted to mention the flirting, but the questions weren’t as stupid. Like, ‘So you were flirting with me?’ or ‘How do you manage to flirt with a straight face?’ were okay. But who _accidentally_ flirts? Definitely not someone like Baz, especially towards someone as Simon.

 

“Snow, seriously—” Baz looked at him with exasperation.

 

“I’m terrible with words!” Simon shouted, effectively silencing Baz. “But I was trying to ask how you do it? I mean, you just told me you’re an awkward flirt, but with me, you’re, like, smooth for ninety-nine percent of the time. Which makes me assume you aren’t actually flirting with me, but that wouldn’t explain the morning. Okay, nevermind, ignore all this, it’s rubbish anyway, you would never want to flirt with me anyway, not with so many other—”

 

Simon fell into silence when Baz pinched his leg. Secretly he had hoped Baz would have silenced him with a kiss, but he supposed for that, a form of consent was needed for that. Hell, _if_ Baz even wanted to kiss him.

 

Baz looked a little flustered, a little shy and there was a smile on his lips that screamed ‘endearment’.

 

“Snow, you’re a bit oblivious, you know,” Baz said kindly, which was a real shocker. Simon was so used to the malice that it was odd to hear it as an almost compliment, maybe some teasing. “I slipped up so many times, I thought you had noticed it ages ago.”

 

Okay, Baz had been flirting with him. That was good, he supposed. But no matter how much he racked his brain, he couldn’t find an instance aside from the ‘Simon survives the Hunger Games’ incident.

 

“The first morning?” Baz suggested. “Stargazing? Dodgeball? First-night bed-sharing? Last evening? This morning?  Pretty much every scenario we interacted in?”

 

No, it wasn’t coming to him. He really, really, couldn’t recall a moment Baz was anything less than being smooth and stupidly charming.

 

“Why were you flirting with me?”

 

God, just kill him, please. Like, why did he had to ask that? Now he still had the illusion that Baz was flirting with him because he liked Simon, and not because Simon was there and flirt-able. Nailed it.

 

Baz offered him a stone-cold gaze. Yeah, it was a stupid question.

 

“Because, and please don’t freak out.” This was going to be interesting. “There was this guy in high school, and I wanted to do four things to him: hit him, kiss him, bed him and marry him. I only hit him, so that wasn’t a big success.”

 

Simon could imagine this being Baz’s line of thoughts. Though the level of success was surprising. He had expected Baz to basically be able to get anyone he wanted, whenever it was through simple charms or the fact his family was loaded.

 

“High school was a fail concerning dating, but hey, life continues after that, right?” The self-deprecating laugh that passed Baz’s lips made Simon doubt things went all that well. “I went on multiple dates, I slept with multiple people, but it never lasted. They either bored me, our hobbies clashes badly or they were more interested in either a quick lay or my dad’s money. And honestly, this has been going on for a decade or so. No relationship lasted long enough to make me even consider introducing him to my dad, or at least to my aunt. My aunt would be the first step – she probably weeds out all the weak.”

 

Simon wondered where this was going. It was a lot, but it wasn’t new. Baz had mentioned beforehand he hadn’t been awfully successful concerning dating, hence why he was here in the first place. Well, using his aunt as second check-point was new too, but he wasn’t going to dwell on that.

 

“And you know what’s the worst part?” Baz asked though he didn’t wait for Simon to answer. “My aunt forces me to go to this camp for single people — had me take off a week from work. And after the first night I wake up, and I _drowned_.”

 

Baz’s word clung to him like a heavy weight on his lungs as if he too was drowning. The words had been filled with so much emotion, so much exhaustion, hope, fear, love. They were heavy, and yet Baz seemed lighter after saying those words.

 

“You can’t quite drown in a bed, you know?”

 

Simon cringed at himself, but Baz took the comment in stride, almost expecting it. Maybe he had and was this an excuse to continue his story. Or perhaps he had ended it like this for dramatic effect because dramatic it was.

 

“I woke up looking into endless blue depths, I saw spit-slicked lips, freckles scattered across his nose and a mess of copper curls. Every inch looked so familiar, yet it wasn’t. And I fell all over again, yet it was different. There wasn’t the expected annoyance, or the urge for violence, or any other typical teenage instinct and behaviour. Instead I wanted to kiss him, hold him, wanted him to speak my name, wanted him to recognise me, and honestly, it only has gotten worse since that morning. I realised that maybe, I was meant to love one person or none at all. Or I was my personal cock block.”

 

It sounded almost like a romance novel — one Simon sometimes flicked trough when he was bored (they were Penny’s, but she somehow kept on forgetting to take them back). A picture of beauty, a description of ever-lasting love. Whoever this person was, was lucky. Though Simon supposed it didn’t work out, as Baz back at another camp for single people.

 

Running a hand through his curls, Simon’s train of thought came to a screeching halt.

 

Copper curls, blue eyes, the freckles. He woke up the first day sharing a room with Baz. They had looked at each other in surprise, as if they couldn’t believe they were actually facing each other, looking at each other. But that did mean—

 

“You liked me during high school?” Simon asked. “I thought you hated me.”

 

Baz grimaced, “I tried to hate you – issues with your semi-adoptive dad – but from day one I was gone. But I wasn’t ready yet, not like I’m now.”

 

He reached out, finger-tips hovering over Simon’s cheek.

 

“If, of course, you want me too. I almost doubt it, even as you’re interested in men—”

 

“I want to kiss you!” Simon blurted out, feeling his face catch fire. His face started to match his hair rather well. “I mean, I was attracted to you from day one — here —  but this morning I woke up and I wanted to nothing else but kiss you.”

 

Baz’s face lit up, relief softened his features significantly, and his smile was almost cute if it wasn’t a little bit cheeky. Jesus, since when was Baz capable of cheek?

 

The kiss was brief, yet it completely caught Simon off guard.

 

It was sweet, gentle, almost kind (if a kiss could be kind). A kiss he would have expected to share with a girl, a sweet,  shy thing. One he would have shared during _high school_ , not in the middle of his adult life. This was a kiss he would never have expected to share with Baz.

 

“Was it okay?” Baz asked, both hands were cupping Simon’s face.

 

Simon tried to snort, but it sounded more like a strangled giggle. “I won’t break, you know.”

 

Baz rolled his eyes. “I know that idiot,” he grumbled. “Am I not allowed to take things slow?”

 

Slow. Simon liked the sound of that. Slow and steady, not a quick lay, not a few days of whirlwind emotions and sex and nothing after that.

 

“That doesn’t mean that the kiss has to be slow,” Simon argued, but nonetheless leaned in a bit and went for the second, probably equally as light, kiss.

 

It was a bit weird, kissing Baz. Not because Baz was a bad kisser, or his lips felt weird or anything like that. It was just because it was _Baz_. It was someone he hated for as many years as he had been falling for him in days. Five years, five days (actually it was four because they didn’t see each other on day one), and Simon couldn’t even remember why he hated Baz in the first place.

 

It was a silly thing, but each kiss they shared, each touch, Simon fell himself falling further and further. Maybe not falling completely in love, it was too early for love, but there was a  level of certainty now. Each kiss made him more confident that this was the right thing to do. The kisses, the touches, the feelings that laid bare. _Both_ of their feelings laid bare. It was a mutual risk, exposing themselves like that. Hell, Baz had been even braver, because he had started it. He had started it all. Simon wouldn’t have had the guts to properly ask Baz out, or even offhandedly talk about his feelings.

 

Eventually feeling overwhelmed, Simon gentle tapped out, moving away from Baz. Now he moved away, he noticed that it was a bit chilly, and the smell of forest wasn’t as strong anymore. Which was odd as they were camping in a _forest_. Must have been Baz’s shower gel, they had just showered after all.

 

“I think this will be unnecessary, I mean, considering I even have figured it out,”Simon felt himself grow nervous nonetheless. He was slightly scared he would annoy Baz. “But the reason you would let me survive the Hunger Games was that you love me?”

 

The love me wasn’t planned, and it was clear that Baz hadn’t seen it coming. At least, Simon could safely conclude this based on how flustered Baz looked.

 

“Don’t think too highly of yourself,” Baz said, almost sounding like his arrogant self. Only the slight pitch-shift ruined it for him. “I just didn’t want to be the one to kill you.”

 

Simon smiled. He could speak a little ‘Baz’, and this probably translated to ‘I didn’t want to see you die’.

 

“We could always pull a Peeta and Katniss,” he teased. “Though it would be more like pulling a Romeo and Juliet, as we are two guys — we would be from two different districts.”

 

Baz grumbled ‘shut up’ before hauling Simon back into a kiss. It was a bit more urgent, a bit more feelings and it sends shivers down his spine. This kind of kissing should be banned — it was too much.

 

Moaning under Baz’s skilled lips, Simon struggled to ground himself. It felt as if he was falling slowly, maybe drowning, and it frightened him a little. He needed a foothold, needed purchase.

 

Simon’s breathe hitched as Baz’s hand found his, lacing their fingers together. Almost breathing in relief, Simon let himself entirely melt into the kiss.

 

Occasionally, when his mind wasn’t filled with the feeling of Baz’s lips, tongue or deft fingers, he wondered where this was going. Would it last, or would it result in heartbreak? What were the plans for tonight? Kissing? Snuggling? Sex? Simon hoped it wasn’t sex, he really hoped it wasn’t, because he wasn’t quite sure if he could say no, not to Baz.

 

“Stop it,” Baz muttered against his lips. “Don’t overthink.”

 

“What’s next,” Simon blurted out, efficiently ruining the mood.

 

“Kissing?” Baz asked, looking a bit puzzled.

 

“The rest of the night. Do you want,” Simon almost choked on his nerves. “Sex?”

 

Baz froze, shock and faint arousal trace his face, which melted away as fast as it had appeared.

 

“No,” Baz chocked out. “Not when you look ready to vomit at the idea.”

 

Simon felt relieved, but also terrible. Did he really look like he was repulsed by sex? He wasn’t, but the idea to immediately shack up with Baz made him feel sick. They really had to talk about this, talk about what they wanted from one another. Because Simon didn’t dare to take a step further than just kissing, hugging and snuggling before he was assured this was going somewhere, somewhere else than one night in the bedroom.

 

“Bed?” Baz suggested kindly. “I mean, it’s getting late.” Simon checked his phone and saw that it was already past ten. “And now we can at least snag two beds for ourselves.”

 

Breathing deeply, feeling ease settle in his heart, Simon offered Baz a gentle smile.

 

“What about one bed?” he asked. “I mean, you know that I love cuddling.”

 

Baz looked briefly star-struck before getting up, hauling Simon on his feet.

 

Stumbling a bit – where did that strength come from? --  Simon let himself fall softly against Baz’s chest. He managed to neatly tuck his head under Baz’s chin and honestly, he could stay here for the rest of his life. (They hadn’t even officially started their honeymoon phase).

 

Feeling his breath and heartbeat even out, Simon realised with a slight start that it wasn’t his heartbeat he was hearing. Baz’s heart was pounding loudly and quickly. He was nervous, which was surreal. Baz had looked cool and steady, but his heart betrayed him.

 

Simon did this, Simon managed to make Baz nervous, made his heart pound wild and fast. It made Simon giddy, stupidly happy and his heartbeat went up once again.

 

“Bed?” Baz asked, his fingers gently trailing across his back.

 

“Don’t want to move,” Simon mumbled.

 

“You sure?” Baz asked again. “I think I’m fit enough to sweep you off your feet and carry you to the cabin. People might get the wrong impression though.”

 

Simon snorted. “They already have that impression. We spend four nights together in the same cabin. I think we’re sharing this streak with a very few people.”

 

He was surprised Baz didn’t comment on it. But while Simon was wondering what Baz was going to say, Baz had pulled up his plotting face. The issue was that Simon wasn’t quite used to it anymore, and he was caught by surprise. Holding true to his promise, Baz hicked Simon up, manoeuvred him around till he was lying cosily in Baz’s arms. Baz had swept him off his feet, quite literally, and he probably looked like a lanky, bewildered-looking, princess.

 

The reasonable thing to do was to comment on it. That Baz had to put him down, but he actually didn’t mind it too much. Plus Baz looked strained, probably struggling to not drop Simon. He was nowhere as light as he used to be in high school.

 

“Didn’t you promise me to carry me to the cabin?” Simon asked, basking in Baz’s fluster. He was a bit cruel, but on the other hand, this probably would be the last time Baz tried to do this.

 

Lying in Baz’s arms – yup he really felt like a princess – Simon heard people talking here and there. But none of them was paying attention to them. They weren’t even batting an eye at them. Maybe this was normal, perhaps Simon had been just too frightened to realise that Baz wasn’t here for just a hook-up. Because if he had been, he had done a piss-poor job. It was night five, and by now Baz would have figured out that Simon wasn’t going to sleep with him.

Honestly, Simon realised he had shallow standards. Because if Baz managed to keep this up, being a gentleman and actually _listen_ to him, Simon would fall harder than a teenager would swoon over their next teenage heartthrob.


End file.
